


Kinaesthesia

by mitsuboo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Best Friends Falling in Love, Childhood Friends, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Growing Up Together, Is this a kissing book?, No Smut, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Student Byleth, just bros emotionally supporting each other, more emotional and expressive byleth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitsuboo/pseuds/mitsuboo
Summary: Dimitri and Byleth grow up together, endure tragedy together, and attend the Officer's Academy together. As they both change and figure out who they are, the world changes too. Falling in love with your best friend was never meant to be easy.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 31
Kudos: 122





	1. Fickle

“Have you ever thought of just _not_ working?”

A statement so easily said from the mouth of a young boy. Tired eyes shadowed under warm candlelight flickered towards the source of the noise. A ragged hand rubbed at his cheek, partnered with the loosest of smiles. “Yes, Dima, I’ve thought of that.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“Good question.” The words hung in the air between father and son. Lambert grimaced and returned to the letter he had re-read over three times already. Dimitri continued to watch with wide, inquisitive eyes. 

Between the prince’s legs on the floor sat his wooden blocks, though they lacked the proper intelligence to interest him much. At the tender age of six, he no longer cared for the toys of his youth, as he so precociously called it. He sighed and placed a block on the top, yet felt entirely unfulfilled as he stared at his work. He used to play with these when he was three, and that was forever ago! He required much more stimulation now, and cast another wanting glance towards Lambert in an attempt to convey his dissatisfaction. 

Lambert blinked behind his reading glasses. His brows furrowed and he squinted closer at the blocky handwriting. Dimitri could only wonder what was so interesting on that page. So interesting as to distract his father from his only beloved son. 

He would get to the bottom of it, and he would dispel whatever concerned his father so very much. It was a decision made with the surest of nods. Standing up, he leaned on the side of Lambert’s desk and peered towards the paper in his hands. “You can’t even read,” the King complained, pulling away, “what do you think you’re doing?”

His lips parted in childish offense, “What’s it say?”

Sharply, Lambert ran his thumb and finger over the fold, opened a drawer and tossed it into the shadows. “Why do you need to know?”

“I just _do_.”

“Your logic astounds me.” Lambert snapped the drawer shut, “It’s a letter from our new knight, one Sir Eisner.”

No other details were needed to excite the prince. A new knight would be joining the castle, a change in the mundane that he so desperately wished for. Dimitri could barely hold in his bout of wiggling at the statement. His hands gripped the side of the desk while his knees bounced, “Where’s he from?”

“Wherever he wants to be,” Lambert eyed him carefully, “and if anybody asks, he’s from Western Faerghus. You hear me?”

A flicker of confusion that quelled the excitement, “Why?”

“Because I said so. And sometimes…” he put a finger to his son’s lips, “it’s better to _not_ ask questions, my boy.”

It felt so very important, this conversation. Dimitri’s wiggles had subsided to a certain degree, yet his knees remained ever the bounciest. Lambert pulled away and readied his quill for yet another document signing. The importance that surrounded him began to slip away like a fine mist, and Dimitri’s anticipation cooled as he noted his father moving on from the subject. While the young prince had no understanding of the phrase ‘it’s better to not ask questions’ - it was often said to him, mainly by his nanny when she was tired of him asking why snow was white - he felt it’s effect in every inch of himself. His father was concerned, and it was written on his face. 

Dimitri had his own slew of concerns, and they were very important concerns indeed. Biting his lip, he waited for a halt in his father’s writing to drill him with yet another inquiry. After a second, it impatiently rolled off his tongue, “Does Sir Eisner have a son?”

A grunt, “Daughter.”

Disappointment. It was like water on a fire. Dimitri huffed and pulled back from the desk. He gathered his childish blocks with disgust, “Girls smell weird.”

“I think they smell quite nice actually.”

“Yeah,” he spit out, arms full of toys as he made for the door, “you would.”

“She’s around your age,” Lambert glanced up from his work as Dimitri opened the door to the office and stepped out, “make her feel welcome, won’t you, my little prince?”

He could never hope to resist the blue eyed plea of such a tired old man. He bit his lip in hesitation, then sighed, “I’ll try my best.”

Perhaps she’d have more of a life than _him_ , and he could always remain hopeful for a friend no matter the gender. Perhaps this young Eisner girl knew of new games, or perhaps she had _better_ toys. His optimism won him over as he mused on the possibilities. There were so many, and they delighted him as he searched high and low for a young miss Eisner to engage. 

She would not appear to him, and after an hour of checking under all of the cabinets, Dimitri gave up in his search. The chef had already kicked him out of the kitchens, and the maids laughed him out of the bedrooms as they cleaned. Dejected, he made his way to the gardens to walk among his late mother’s roses, the place where he conceived his best thoughts. 

In the gardens, there was a swinging bench. It was simply a piece of wood hanging from rope, tied to a heavy limb. He had very little memories of his mother, but he knew stories of her enjoying the swing, and holding him in her arms as she got as high as she could. Dimitri felt the old ropes groan under his weight as he sat down and traced the patterns in the wood. 

The weeds had been allowed to grow around this particular part of the garden. Ivy crawled up the thick trunk of the tree. The overgrown feeling of the garden gave it a sense of quiet that Dimitri had trouble finding anywhere else in the castle. Very little people came around, and he could swing by himself until his legs ran out of energy and his heart pumped with excitement at the heights he reached. 

As it turned out, the new knight and his daughter were not yet in the city. The details of the letter had never become apparent to Dimitri, yet he overheard on another day that it would be yet another week before the new knight arrived. His father had been acting odd since receiving the dreaded letter, and the sense of foreboding had not escaped the young prince’s notice. 

That foreboding was mixed with sharp anticipation. Any change was welcome, even if that change included a girl that possibly smelled terrible. He stared out the window of his classroom each day, awaiting the new arrivals with a bouncing knee. The amount of times his tutor had slapped his hand with a ruler throughout the week were uncountable - at least to him, who could only count to 12. 

It was days later when Dimitri overheard the words ‘immunity’ and ‘treason against the crown’ being whispered through the door of his father’s office. It was a complete and utter shame, he thought, that he had _no_ _idea_ what those words meant. It sounded like it was quite an interesting conversation Lambert was having with Rodrigue behind closed doors. One day, he would have such conversations as well.

The words lingered in his mind as they gathered outside of the castle, on the front steps where they received visitors. Dimitri stood stiffly as he was trained to do, wearing nice clothing with his hair pushed back as much as it’s messiness would allow. His hands were folded behind his back, and growing sweaty with anticipation as the gates opened. 

His knee bounced. Lambert sent a sharp look, and Dimitri shriveled into perfect stillness. His father redirected a smile towards the approaching horses coming through the gates. 

“There’re only two?” Dimitri whispered, “Where’s his entourage? His servants and squire?”

“Shush,” Lambert snapped, “that’s rude, Dima. Not everybody comes from such a position.”

Humbled, he shriveled once more. A blond man approached on a black horse, followed by a smaller chestnut horse that was tied to him by rope to his saddle. A girl sat upon the chestnut, yet she seemed much too small to be holding her own reigns. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the rope and watched the royalty with wide, curious eyes. 

Dimitri paid her no attention. His complete admiration was on the regal man atop the black horse. A one Sir Eisner, he assumed with excitement. The bouncing knee returned with a fury that could not be stopped. 

Lambert’s smile could win any crowd. He stepped forward to shake Lord Eisner’s hand firmly, “Glad to see you’ve made it well, Jeralt. We’re happy to have you.”

Before the knight could make a reply, the girl’s high pitched reminder broke through his greeting, “Father, it’s, uh…” really high up, Dimitri finished for her internally. _He_ had not even been allowed to ride a full sized horse by himself yet. 

Jeralt released Lambert’s hand and stepped back to pick his daughter up from her oversized saddle. Gently, he set her down beside him, yet her arms remained snaked around his waist. He didn’t seem to care much for formalities, and allowed her to cling to him so impolitely in front of the King. “Sorry, we’re a bit tired,” Jeralt sounded gruff, his voice scratchy, “happy to be here, though.”

“I bet,” he offered a light laugh, then knelt down to the girl’s eye level with an accommodating smile, “My name is Lambert. And yours?”

He offered a finger. The olive branch of peace. Hesitantly, she shook it, “Byleth.”

“Byleth,” he repeated, glancing over his shoulder, “this is my son, Dimitri.”

A certain bony jab to his back broke the prince from his reverie. His nanny was incredibly proper, and frequently reminded him that it was impolite to stare. Especially to stare so reverently and dedicatedly at Sir Jeralt as he had been, so much so that he had not realized his father introducing him to the odd girl. 

Dropping back to Fodlan from his throne in the clouds, Dimitri’s eyes widened as he realized Lambert and Byleth were looking at him expectantly. His heart skipped in embarrassment, “M-My apologies!” A quick, messy bow, “I am Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd! It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

Byleth could only offer a nod. So much for proper values, she could return no such kind of greeting. Lambert, though, was satisfied with the exchange. He stood from his squat and turned to a proud, yet tired Jeralt. 

Byleth and Dimitri eyed each other warily through Lambert’s legs. She squinted. He flinched.

“As far as we know, they’ve no idea you’re here,” it was a whisper passed between the two men, “and if they did, you have immunity. You’re safe here.”

Appreciation filled the wrinkle lined eyes of the knight. He nodded, “Thank you. That’s all I can ask for.”

“And a house,” Byleth piped up smartly, “I would like a house, please.”

Jeralt hushed her sharply, yet she remained unwavering as she stared up at Lambert. Dimitri frowned while watching the exchange. She had been at his home for a total of five minutes and she was already bossing his father around. His optimism towards friendship began to shrivel like a dried prune. 

Lambert, ever the diplomat, remained unfazed as he smiled down at her, “Yes, little one, that too. Faerghus doesn’t have much to offer, but we will give you what we can.”

“You don’t have to give us anything,” Jeralt sent a quieting glance to his daughter, who ignored him, “we can take care of lodgings ourselves.”

“No need,” Lambert started slowly, “There are… a few lodgings in town you can choose from. It’s your pick. We can talk about that later,” he glanced over his shoulder at the fidgeting guards waiting by the front doors - along with his impatient son, “let us go inside and speak of the details.”

Speaking of details was Dimitri’s _least_ favorite thing to do. Yet, he was never truly allowed to listen to such details either, perhaps they were far more interesting than he assumed. 

Jeralt ruffled Byleth’s hair as he passed. It was the most fatherly of gestures, earning a swipe of her hands in defense. She huffed as he followed Lambert into the entrance hall. “Stay safe, kid.”

An immediate protest from both children. It was Byleth who spoke the loudest, “I’m coming with you!”

Lambert and Jeralt halted. The King could only smile tiredly, while the knight shook his head in response. He sent Byleth a look not unlike the ones Dimitri received from his own father. “We’ve got to talk adult stuff. Politics, women, alcohol.”

Before another protest could arise, Lambert intervened with his diplomat’s smile, “Dima, show Byleth around, won’t you?”

He frowned. Byleth looked just as hesitant to leave her father’s side. Her hands twisted anxiously, the action making Dimitri anxious by relation. He sent her an inquisitive eye, while she avoided his in return. 

Speaking in low tones, the men began their walk down the great entrance hall of the castle. Their voices bounced from the walls, but their words remained unintelligible. Frowning, Dimitri watched their retreating backs with dread. Several guards surrounded with grim faces as they waited for the Prince to do something that required _guarding_ \- or at least something along those lines. 

Byleth stood in silence. She stared at the floor, eyes wide with an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint. Over her shoulder, through the open doors of the castle, the stablehands gathered up the horses and led them away. She remained silent through it all. 

He cleared his throat simply to have some sort of noise in the large, empty room, “Do you, uh… like the weather?”

Her shoulders shook. She froze, arms stiffening. The shiver stopped as quickly as it had come. In a small voice, she answered, “It’s fine…”

It was the smallest of talks possible. It could not get any smaller. 

He grimaced, “How old are you?”

“Six.”

“Me too,” he lit up, “can you read yet?”

“A little…”

He could read at least _one_ of his books, and that was enough for him to be proud of. Nodding in acknowledgement, he toed the ground and bounced a knee in anxiety. Small talk was hard, and he had never had these problems with making friends with Felix and Sylvain and Ingrid. 

“Do you want a tour?” It was a good offer, accompanied by a hopeful look from the young prince.

She nodded quietly. Accepting her silent gesture, he turned on his heel and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets as casually as he could. It was a short walk from the entrance of the hall to the throne at the head of the room, their first destination on the tour. She followed from a distance. He gestured to it, “This is the throne. Dad sits on it.”

A small nod. 

“And, uh,” he gestured to the huge banners of velvet blue waterfalling down the sides of the throne, “those are the flags.”

“Flags of what?”

“Faerghus,” he informed smartly, “blue is our color. Like my eyes.”

“Or…” she rocked back and forth on her heels, “like the sky?”

He sent her a confused look, “The sky isn’t blue.”

She looked up from the floor long enough to return his confused expression. Her eyes were darkly lined with lashes, big and inquisitive. He felt uncomfortable under her stare as she furrowed her brows, “Yes it is.”

He would not look away. He stood, strong as a mountain, refusing to shrivel under this girl’s owl-expression. “It’s grey. The sky is grey.”

Her discomfort was beginning to melt away as she scoffed, “Well, _here_ it’s grey. In other places it’s blue.”

A scoff. “I don’t believe you.”

“Well, you _should_. I’ve seen it.”

He squinted, “Where’re you even from? Weirdo town?” Internally, he congratulated his skills of insulting.

Byleth recoiled as if he disgusted her. Her glare could burn holes in him if he allowed it. “The forest.” She answered so confidently that he couldn’t help but argue with her. 

“You _can’t_ be from the forest.”

“Yes I can, and I _am_.”

An exasperated shake of his head, “Nobody’s from the forest!”

“ _I’m_ from the forest.”

“You _can’t_ be.”

“My dad says I am.”

“Your dad is wrong!”

“No he’s not!”

“I think you’re rude,” it was the nail in the coffin, spat out from a six year old prince’s mouth like poison, “you were rude to my father.”

If Dimitri was smarter, older perhaps, he would’ve caught the flash of hurt through her eyes. Yet, even at her young age, Byleth could hide her emotions when she needed to. In the face of judgement, she hid behind her usual shield of uncaring blankness. “ _You’re_ being rude by not believing me.”

“I’m not being rude, I’m being logical,” he barely knew what ‘logical’ meant, yet it sounded correct, “and you didn’t even say hello to my father!”

She could hardly hold back her seethe of childish anger, “You don’t know what we’ve been through. I bet you’ve never even _seen_ blood.”

Not true, his nose bled sometimes. “What does that matter?”

She was haughty once more, “You’re very rude, and I don’t like you.”

“Well, _I_ don’t like _you_!”

“Great!” She snapped sarcastically, “Let’s get this tour over with so I can go back to my father!”

That was one thing Dimitri could find to agree with. He humphed in irritation, stomping his way down the hall to show her the kitchens. The tour was not at all silent, and echoed it’s way throughout the castle as he led her around. 

The argument continued viciously. It was an hour later, when the fight dissolved into a disagreement over whether wolves are cats or lizards - they’re neither, reminded Dimitri’s personal guard, but this went unnoticed - when Dimitri decided one _very_ important thing. 

He did not like Byleth Eisner. When asked why, he could give at least three reasons. 

She was a girl.

She was wrong.

And she smelled weird - like the forest, which he maintains that she is _not_ from. 

* * *

It was complete and utter sacrilege that Dimitri should find his nemesis, Byleth Eisner, sitting on his special swing. If he knew what the word ‘sacrilege’ meant, he might’ve yelled it. He might’ve preached of how her bottom was not fit for such a holy place, then demanded she return to whatever hole in the ground she crawled out of. Thinking of such grandiose reactions with pleasure, he stomped through to weeds of the overgrown garden to approach her, frowning furiously.

Opening his mouth to complain, he drew in a short breath to begin, “Yo-”

“Hi,” a cheeky interruption with a subtle smirk, “did you get shorter, your highness? I think you got shorter.”

Plans were halted in their tracks. The little prince could only stare with wide eyes. “T-That’s rude! I’m telling my father.”

“You don’t need your dad to help you when someone’s mean,” she rolled her eyes, “stick up for yourself.”

Yet another example of how utterly confusing women could be. His mouth gaped, his brows furrowed. “You insult me, then you’re trying to encourage me?”

She closed her eyes and hummed, hands holding onto the fraying ropes at her sides, “I’m a very nice person.”

“I can argue with that,” he snorted, “would you get off my swing?”

Her eyes opened curiously, “This is _your_ swing?”

“It was my mother’s.” 

His retort was filled with such bitterness, said in the high voice of a six year old. Yet, Byleth’s eyes softened as she slipped from the wooden swing and reached her feet for the ground. Finally, letting go of the rope and standing on her own, she stepped aside, “I didn’t know it was your mother’s.”

Dimitri wasn’t sure whether he should be thankful, or continue his tirade of bitterness. Managing an under-the-breath mumble that sounded vaguely like a thank you, he turned away to sit with his back against the thick, vine covered trunk of the tree. 

Byleth watched him curiously. Her lips pressed together, owl-eyes studying him. A beat of silence passed before she broke it, “Where’s your mother?”

Dimitri shrugged. He had no answer, even for himself. 

Byleth pressed her lips again. “I don’t know mine either.”

“A lot of people don’t.” Is what Lambert would remind him when he questioned such things. It made enough sense, and Dimitri had no trouble believing his father. 

Byleth seemed unsatisfied with his answer. She sent him a bored look, then crossed her arms, “Do you still not like me?”

“Nope.”

She watched him twiddle with a weed between his fingers. It was an absent movement, one Byleth often did herself. Turning away, she shrugged at his answer, “I don’t like you either.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

With their ‘goods’ passed in childish confidence, Byleth stomped through the overgrown weeds to the clearer part of the gardens. Dimitri was left behind with his own thoughts, and once he made sure the girl was out of sight, he finally sat in the swing, and began to push. 

It had been several days that Jeralt had been serving as a knight. He had been fitted for his armor, and Dimitri caught sight of him leaving the blacksmith with a scowl on his face. He didn’t look very knightly, yet he carried himself so well. Dimitri could not help but be in awe of the newcomer. His daughter, on the other hand, could be entirely, _completely_ ignored. It would’ve been so much easier if she just stayed at her home in the town, instead of in the castle while her father worked.

Byleth Eisner had become Dimitri’s main annoyance in life. He entered the kitchens to get a snack, and caught her sitting in the corner speaking to the chef. He went to the library to look at the picture books, and caught her in his usual seat, looking at _his_ picture books. He went to the pond to look at the fish, and caught her with her feet in the water, stinking up the place with the pure, disgusting scent of _girl_!

It was absolutely terrible, and his life was ruined.

“Everything would be so much easier if you just made friends with her,” Lambert reminded him as he cut his porkchop at the dinner table, “you’d have a friend close by, and I think she needs someone right now.”

“I have friends.” He grumbled. 

Lambert’s knife scraped against the plate loudly. It echoed through the long dining hall, filled with quiet servants standing at the corners. “You have friends hundreds of miles away,” he corrected, “Byleth lives here in town.”

“Don’t care.”

Several seats away, his nanny scowled at the misuse of grammar from the young prince. Dimitri ignored her. Lambert merely shook his head, “She’s had a hard time. She needs a friend.”

“She can find a different one.” He stuffed the porkchop into his mouth and chewed darkly. 

Lambert ignored the retort, “She may be a little difficult, but women are like… mashed potatoes.” He held a bit of the potato up on his fork, “They’re hard at first, but then you peel them, apply a little warmth…” he stuck the potato in his mouth and swallowed, “a little butter, some seasoning, and then what happens?”

Dimitri blinked. 

“They taste good?”

Lambert’s cheeks flushed with a sudden wave of pink. His mouth gaped as he tried to recover from his own mistakes. He put a hand up, ignoring the glare from the old nanny down the table. A servant stifled a laugh in the corner of the room while the King floundered, “N-No! They soften! Dima, they _soften_!”

He furrowed his brows, slumped in his seat, “So I just have to put butter on Byleth?”

“N-No!” Another stifled giggle, a snort, paired with Lambert’s pink face, “Gods, boy, no. I mean, show her some _warmth_.”

“I thought potatoes were boiled.” Which was not _just_ warm, in fact, it was very hot. 

“It’s a metaphor, Dima,” he heaved a sigh to his toes, “how about you just give her a hug?”

A hug. A hug. Dimitri got hugs often. Lambert was very huggy. They were warm, certainly, and the affection never proved to leave him cold. Hugging, in Dimitri’s mind, was something reverental and wonderful, something to be shared between two people that it meant something to. 

It would mean nothing to Byleth. The very thought made Dimitri frown in scorn. “That would be odd.”

“You’re tossin’ my ideas aside without even trying ‘em, boy!” Lambert ignored the scowl from the nanny for his own bad grammar, “Just try it. I-I mean, don’t do it if she doesn’t want it,” he waved a defensive hand, “make sure she’s okay with it first. And if she _is_ … just show her some warmth.”

What a vague statement. Warmth. Showing warmth. Warmth was a _feeling_ , warmth was a blanket in front of a fire. He wasn’t entirely sure how to manifest such a thing in a conversation, unless he brought his blanket along with him.

Yet, it was a demand from his father. Dimitri was not brave enough quite yet to disobey him, so he would _attempt_ to emulate warmth per request. And he would bring his blanket along with him while he did so. 

It was blue, wrapped around his shoulders. He approached Byleth as she sat in the overgrown area next to the swing. Her legs were folded over each other, showing her ankles under the plain dress she wore. Her small boots had been thrown aside in favor of her bare feet against the scratchy grass. 

Dimitri pulled his blanket closer. It was like a cape, not unlike the one his father wore. It gave him comfort as he approached his dreaded nemesis. She stared blankly at a bug crawling across the ground in front of her.

The sound of his approaching footsteps crunching the weeds caught her attention. She fluttered her eyes up, but made no move to bow to him as most usually did. He gulped in anxiety, as this girl obviously cared nothing for his station, and it provided no protection for him. 

Byleth said nothing as he shuffled towards her. An eyebrow raised curiously under her messy bangs while Dimitri dropped to his knees beside her. Lambert’s words came to his mind as a reminder. He recited them as best as he could, “You can push me away if you want.” His father said it so much more eloquently, yet the point came across just as well. 

Byleth began to question him. She opened her mouth to ask him what he thought he was doing, but before her tongue formed the words, the prince wrapped his blanket around her shoulders. 

She always wore such thin clothing. It had only been two weeks of her hanging around the castle while Sir Jeralt worked, but it was enough for Dimitri to notice the shivers that wracked her body. She resisted them when her father was around, but when she thought nobody was looking she tended to shiver like a shaved dog in the snow. 

Her plain dresses weren’t thick enough for the cold of Faerghus. No knight was paid well, as there was hardly any money to go around. Dimitri didn’t quite understand the details of such things, but of all things, he noticed her shiver. Warmth, now, was his blanket, held in front of the fireplace in his room before running to the garden to find her. It still buzzed with the kiss of the flames, wrapping around her. 

She touched the soft wool of the blanket and sat up inquisitively. He gulped once again, and leaned in to finish the job. He wrapped his arms around her. His chin rested on her shoulder, and hers propped up on his. Her arms remained at her sides as he held her tightly. 

Nervousness. Dread circling in his stomach. He had to shut his eyes from the sheer anxiety of it all. 

He felt Byleth’s head shift, and her arms raise to lightly touch his waist. He relaxed under her hands, while her face buried into the wool of his shirt. Her breath was hot even through the material of his clothes, and she seemed to heave with emotion. 

He felt no tears sinking through to his skin, yet her shoulders racked with something close to despair. He would ask no questions. If Lambert taught him anything, it was to _listen_. 

“My dad’s scared, that’s why we’ve been traveling around Fodlan all my life,” she whispered, her voice muffled against him, “he won’t tell me what he’s scared of. He’s scared for _me_ and I don’t even get to know why.”

“Have you…” he mulled over his thoughts, ignoring his anxiety and keeping her close, “tried asking him?”

She whispered, “Yes, he won’t tell me. But that’s why we’re here. He’s hiding from something.”

She must be scared as well. Dimitri realized this as he held her, and it only proved to tighten his grip. He buried his own face in her shoulder, and the children gripped each other until everything felt better. As ‘better’ as it could feel for them. 

"You're safe here," he repeated what he heard Lambert tell Jeralt, "You're safe with us."

Byleth finally pulled away. Awkwardly, Dimitri let her go with sweaty palms and a churning stomach. He took a deep breath, watching her face as she avoided his eyes. 

Her cheeks were dry, and eyes flat. She grimaced, “Thank you.” 

“If you need that blanket,” he began slowly, “you can have it.”

She touched it reverentially, “But it’s yours.”

He shrugged, “I have a lot more in my room.”

Her ‘thank you’ was soft, under her breath and barely audible. Her head lowered to avoid his gaze. Dimitri could only stare and wonder if this was a mushy woman, like a mashed potato. Was he warm enough? Did he do it right? 

One last step. Lambert had taken extra care to prepare him for this part specifically. The prince took a deep breath, “Do you… w-want to be friends?”

She blinked at the ground, “I’ve never had a friend.”

“I have a few,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “but they all live really far away, and… _You_ live really close.” 

“Yeah…” it was a whisper as she pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, “that would be nice.”

“So,” he held his hand out to her, “friends?”

She eyed him. Her expression was unreadable, and he could not break through the shield that was her eyes. Wavering, his hand began to feel clammy as it hung in the air between them. 

She bit her lip, hesitant. After a beat of awkwardness, she unclutched the blanket and rested her hand in his. They wrapped around each other in an oddly formal shake.

“Friends.”


	2. New Friends

“Move, move, _move_!”

As per request, Byleth moved. As per the _urgency_ of the request, her movement resembled more of a desperate lunge. Pushing her back against a wall, she allowed the stream of workers with their trays of food to wind hurriedly down the hall. It was like a river made of people. Byleth had never seen so many legs moving in perfect time with each other. 

At the tail end of the river flowing from the kitchens, Dimitri emerged. He held nothing, and perked up far brighter than any worker at the castle ever would. Byleth made panicked eye contact with him while she tried to make herself as small as possible, “Are you having a party or something?”

“Yes!” He ran to her and clasped her hands in his own, grinning like the sun itself - something he emulated so perfectly, despite Faerghus rarely seeing it. “A ball! For the first time in forever!”

By ‘forever’ he meant a year. It had been forever to _Byleth_ since she had never even seen a ball before. Abashed, she fidgeted with the straw handle of the picnic basket hanging from the crook of her arm, “Does that mean you’re busy?”

He almost said no, yet took a moment to hesitate. Biting his lip, he glanced away in thought, “I don’t think I'll be _too_ busy...”

“I was thinking we could eat lunch by the pond,” Byleth explained meekly, “I brought cheese from the market…”

“That sounds nice,” he offered, “maybe after my fitting?”

“Fitting?”

“For clothes?” His head tilted curiously, “For tonight?”  
  


She nodded as if she understood. Byleth, aged six and a half years old, knew very little of the details of nobility. She had _never_ been fitted for clothes, as any and all clothes that made their way on her body simply stayed the way they were found. The concept itself interested her. She allowed Dimitri to drag her down the hallway towards the tailoring room in the Western edge of the castle grounds. 

The tailor himself waited with an impatient tap of his foot. Dimitri rounded the corner with Byleth in tow, smiling as obliviously as he possibly could. Byleth gulped as she saw the critical eye of the man rake her up and down. 

She shifted uncomfortably as they stopped in front of his door. Jeralt always reminded her, day in and day out, to keep her shoulders back and head tall. She wasn’t sure how she could be tall when she was so short, but Dimitri was shorter. That always seemed to help. 

She returned the tailor’s steady gaze. He broke the beat of silence with a condescending clearing of his throat, “Am I fitting her too?”

“Uh,” unsure, her mouth gaped, “I don’t know.”

“Are... _you_ going to the ball?”

She hadn’t heard anything of it. She had been in the castle every day for the last week, and it was the first she heard of the upcoming ball. Dimitri looked at her with questioning eyes as she floundered for an answer, “Are there, uh… invitations?”

He scoffed, “Obviously.”

“Well, I didn’t get one.”

“Then wait here, little girl.”

She scowled at the title. Dimitri sent her an apologetic smile. “It’ll only take a minute, then we’ll eat lunch. Okay?”

Defeated. Resting her back against the wall, she slid down to the floor and crossed her legs, resting the picnic basket in her lap. “Sure, sure. But if it’s longer than _one_ _minute_ I’m leaving.”

He held up a finger, "One minute!"

An hour passed. Byleth, feeling like a fool, remained in the hallway. Waiting. 

Fortunately for the cheese in her picnic basket, the air in the castle remained frigid. She had taken to wrapping the blanket Dimitri lent her around her shoulders like a cape. It provided enough warmth, and she insisted to her father that it was better than a coat. At times like then, when she dozed off against the wall, it truly was. She could not be so comfortable in an itchy coat. 

By the time the door finally opened, her lower back ached with stiffness. Dimitri stepped out of the room in new clothes, his footsteps waking a dozing Byleth from her light dreams. She startled up with a gasp, her eyes shooting open while Dimitri stood before her. 

A hand covered his smile for her sake, “You’re drooling, By.”

Harshly, she wiped at her cheek where the line of drool had trailed, “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

It was simply because the prince insisted _so_ determinedly that the need for revenge arose in her heart. She aimed for his arm, the nice swatch of blue fabric covering his limbs that was fitted so perfectly to him. The tailor screeched in disgust as Byleth lunged forward and wiped the line of drool on his limb. 

Taken by surprise, Dimitri stumbled away. His mouth gaped, and he gasped, then hid another smile behind his hand out of politeness for the tailor. His voice held the hint of a laugh, “Byleth! That’s gross!”

She pulled away, her hand now wiped dry. “You deserved it. You shouldn’t tease girls.”

He sent her a dumb look, “I’m not teasing a girl, I’m teasing you.”

“I’ll spit on your nice new shoes too if you keep it up.”

The tailor grimaced in disgust. He stepped between the children like a shield, “Please,” he glanced over his shoulder at Byleth sitting on the ground, looking at her as if she was rolling around in mud, “No wiping bodily fluids on my work.”

Humbly, she reared back, “Sorry.”

Ignoring the scornful attitude, Dimitri nodded a thanks to the tailor. He stepped past him and helped Byleth stand from her place on the ground, “We can go eat lunch now.”

Her back ached with her nap against the wall, yet she managed to keep up with Dimitri’s excited pace. He rambled as they sped through the hallways, “I think you can still come tonight. I didn’t get an invitation either.”

“Because your dad’s throwing it,” she retorted. 

He shook his head as he pulled her down the stairs, “I still didn’t get one.”

“Don’t be dumb, Dima. You don’t _need_ one!”

The two reached the bottom of the stairs. He stopped to face her with a huff and frown on his face. His brows furrowed, “I want you to come. _I’m_ your invitation.”

“I don’t have nice clothes,” she gestured to his newly fitted outfit, “I won’t fit in if everybody there is dressed like you are."

Desperate, his brows furrowed together as he pleaded, “Nobody’ll even notice you!”

“Yes they will!”

“They won’t,” he nodded in affirmation to his decree, “You can wear my clothes if you're so worried.”

While they were similar in sizes, the very thought made Byleth crinkle her nose. Dimitri wore heavy wools and thick velvets with professional dyes, and Byleth often found the details and add-ons to his clothing too overwhelming for her taste. She didn't know how he managed to run around in the outfits his nannies and the tailor forced him into. It looked simply suffocating. “I don’t want to wear your clothes.”

Now, he was desperate. Blue eyes pleaded into her heart and melted her like ice on a hot road, "Please?"

She avoided his gaze, “I _also_ don’t want to make your father angry.”

“He won’t be!”

“You don’t know that.”

“I want you to go,” the plea grew deeper, “I want you to meet Sylvain and Ingrid and Felix.”

Names she had heard dropped in conversation with Dimitri. He adored his other friends, though they lived so far away that he rarely had the chance to see them. Byleth almost felt like she knew them already. Felix was a little shy, Sylvain was outgoing, and Ingrid was like a mom. If there was truly a deep need to know the three of them, her father would care more about making said connections. Thus, Byleth wasn’t nearly as excited as the prince liked her to be. 

He took her hands. He looked her in the eyes. He tilted his head and took a deep breath, letting out a whispered and desperate, "Please?"

Byleth remained unaffected. “No. And besides, my father told me to stay home tonight." She didn't know that it was because of a ball, and assumed that he was worried for the weather. For her father to keep her away from such a large party made sense. 

His face fell. He pulled away with a defeated frown, “Your father's guarding the courtyard tonight, he won't even be home to see you not there! Just please come.”

She shifted uncomfortably. He stared at her with such intensity, as much as a six year old could muster in his rounded face. He was so determined, and she realized that it must be for a reason. She never had many friends, as the opportunity rarely arose, yet she knew one very important lesson in friendship. If something was important to her friend, it was important to her. 

“You _promise_ that I won’t get in trouble?”

“I promise.”

The two were lost in their own world. Since Byleth had come around, the servants noticed a change in the young prince. As precocious as he had always been, he seemed to be closer to a normal child in the presence of Byleth Eisner. As close to a normal child as a prince could hope to achieve. 

Several servants watched from a distance as Byleth rested her hands in Dimitri’s and offered a slow nod, “I’ll try my best to be there.”

It was all she could offer, and he would accept every inch of it. The servants leaned into each other and passed a whisper that would spread through the castle like a drop of dye in water. Byleth and Dimitri, unaware of the snakes in the tall grass, continued arm in arm to take lunch by the pond together. 

After lunch, the guests began to appear. It was a parade of nobility that filed into the large, open doors of the castle. Lambert stood at the entrance, bowing deeply to each family that arrived over the course of the afternoon. The fanfare of the new arrivals attracted the children's attention, drawing Dimitri and Byleth to the side of the courtyard where they spied on the castle entrance. 

Dimitri peaked through the holes in a rose bush, “He must be tired from all that bowing and standing around.”

Byleth hung back behind him, “Don’t you get used to it?”

“I hate it,” his nose crinkled, “it’s stupid.”

She couldn’t argue with the stupidity of it all. From their hiding place, the rose bushes were thick with thorns and flowers, obscuring her view from the carriages and horses that walked past. There were no other holes to peak through, and the one hole that Dimitri occupied was shrouded by vines that made it difficult to look through. Nonetheless, it was all they had, “I wanna see too.”

“Find a different hole then.” He waved her off. 

Another haughty huff. Byleth frowned and put her hands on her hips, “I’ve already looked for one! There isn’t another!”

He ignored her, “Oh, there’s the Fraldarius’s! There’s Glenn,” he glanced at her over his shoulder smartly, “he’s nine years old.”

“So?”

“I wish _I_ was nine.” A dreamy sigh.

“You’ll get there,” she rolled her eyes, “lemme see. I haven’t ever seen them.”

Finally, he stepped aside to allow Byleth to peak through the bushes. She stretched on her tip toes and squinted, yet the vines and thorns covered her view in the most irritating way possible. She pulled back with a frown, “Can you pick me up?” He certainly was strong enough to. 

The prince mused over her request. His crest had begun to show it’s true strength as of late, and he found himself twisting forks and spoons more often than not. It was a scary change, but not as scary as puberty sounded. He would take a crest with super strength over puberty. 

To lift Byleth on his shoulders over the bushes would certainly be a good test of what he could handle. Eagerly, he nodded. “Climb on.” He knelt down on his knees and allowed Byleth to position herself behind him. 

With Dimitri being shorter than her by at least an inch it proved easy to haul herself onto his shoulders. Climbing on her _father’s_ shoulders was a much more difficult feat, but something she enjoyed doing when he allowed it. 

Dimitri held onto her legs. Her skirts bunched up behind his neck, revealing her bare legs against his sides. He held them tightly as he pushed himself up with ease. Like a tower, she began to tilt while he attempted to regain balance. 

The thrill of being twice her own height was enough for her to release a giggle. Below her, Dimitri lit up, “Did you just laugh? I’ve never heard you laugh!”

Her face fell into a frown, “You’re imagining things. Onwards, to the bushes, my loyal donkey!”

“I’m not a donkey,” a dark grumble, yet he complied to her sharp command. Walking slowly, he approached the bushes with the tottering girl on his shoulders. 

She gripped his hair, though not so tight as to cause him pain. Finally, she could see over the bushes at the nobility filing into the palace. Lambert stood on the front steps of the castle, in front of the elegant and large doors that opened into the throne room. He held the hands of a dark haired man. They were smiling at each other and talking like old friends, while a tall boy around the age of nine or ten stood behind him. Holding the boys hand was another dark haired Fraldarius who stared past the King boredly.

Byleth whispered, “Is that Glenn?”

Dimitri nodded, “Should be. How tall has he gotten?”

“I don’t know,” she scoffed, “I’ve never seen him before now! Oh, oh,” she brightened up further, “they’re going inside! And the stable hands are getting their carriage-”

“That’s boring, who else is coming?”

As per request, she directed her attention to the gates on the other end of the courtyard. They had been open for most of the afternoon to allow the guests to enter at their own will. Another procession of horses came through, manned by a blond haired man holding the reins expertly. Byleth’s eyes widened as she noticed the detail around the horse's sides, “Are those pegasi?”

Dimitri stood straighter, making Byleth tilt backwards again. She gripped his hair to keep her balance as he attempted to peer through the hole at his eye level, “It must be the Galatea family!”

“The _who_?”

“Ingrid!” He informed brightly, “It’s her family!”

Byleth squinted. She could see nobody inside of the carriage. The brilliant white of the pegasi caught her eye as they passed through the entrance of the courtyard and approached Lambert waiting at the doors. 

Dimitri’s yell was louder than it should have been, for the attention of the blond driver of the carriage had been caught. He looked towards the noise, catching the top of Byleth’s head peeking up over the rose bushes. She ducked down to cover her face, making Dimitri stumble backwards as he held her legs to keep himself steady. 

She leaned over him and clutched his hair between her fingers, “They saw me!”

An adult yell from across the bushes reached their eyes. Both children gasped. Byleth managed to sit up straight once more to look across the short wall of rose bushes. Lambert was now walking towards them, accompanied by two of his hunting dogs and a soldier. 

From the pegasi drawn carriage a blonde head peaked out of the window. Wide eyes watched in terror as Byleth looked at her with a gaping mouth. She raised a hand, “Hello!”

A little hand waved back. With Byleth’s wide wave of her arm, Dimitri once again lost his balance and stumbled away. His fingers dug into her skin while he tried to desperately keep her still. “Byleth,” he whined under pressure, “I-I’m losing my footing!”

“Okay,” she leaned down, her movement causing another bout of stumbles from the prince below her, “J-Just stop moving Dima!”

Across the bushes, Lambert approached even more quickly. Byleth’s heart raced as she heard his dogs sniffing around the edge of the hedges. Lambert peaked over the top - which was not actually that tall to a grown adult, but very tall for the children that hid behind it. 

The king made eye contact with the girl sitting atop his son’s shoulders. He raised a thick brow to her. She offered a tottering smile, “Hello sir.”

It was the finale of the circus act that were the two children. Dimitri finally lost his strength and Byleth felt the world under her topple backwards. No matter how soft the grass underfoot was, the ground still rang against her back and behind with a fury like no other. She landed with an oof, Dimitri falling down beside her on his back. 

Pain pulsated through her spine. She shut her eyes and held a heaving breath. Beside her, Dimitri covered his face with a despairing hand, “I-I lost my strength again. It comes and goes. I-I'm so sorry."

Around the corner of the hedges, Lambert’s hunting dogs approached with panting tongues. Dimitri pushed a golden retriever away with both hands, while Byleth allowed the other to inspect her neck and torso with it’s wet nose. Behind the dogs, Lambert jogged up to the children laying on the ground. 

He knelt down beside them. She half expected a yell, but instead received a concerned face and a soft hand against her head, “Are you okay?” The panic was evident enough to make Byleth’s eyes shoot open. 

She offered him a light nod, but Dimitri merely groaned. He was less hurt, as his travel to the ground was much shorter. It was his pride that ached, almost as badly as Byleth’s bottom. His hand flopped to his side in the cool grass, “I lost it again.”

Relief flooded Lambert’s face. His expression softened as he gazed at the boy laying in the grass. Dimitri stared at the clouds above. “The same thing used to happen to me, don’t worry. One day the effects of the crest will just never go away, and you’ll _wish_ you had a break.”

He groaned, unbelieving of his father’s wisdom. Byleth managed to sit up despite the shooting pain through her back muscles. She grimaced, “It lasted longer than last time at least.”

“You don’t have to cheer me up,” he sent her a flat look, “you should go talk to a healer for that fall. Are you feeling okay?”

“I am, actually,” it was beginning to subside in smaller, more subtle waves, “it’ll go away.”

“I’m sorry.”

She managed a polite smile and a squeeze of his hand, “It’s okay, you can’t help it.”

He grimaced at the reminder. Lambert watched the interaction with pointed interest. His eyes were wide, heightened in their blueness against the grey backdrop of the sky. He rested an arm over his knee while his dogs circled the group with excitement. 

“Well, aren’t you two good friends.”

The remark earned two flat gazes from both of the children.

He went on with an irrepressible smile, “When did this happen?”

Lambert, as of late, had been mastering the art of embarrassing his son. Being an only child himself, and having no more than one son, the very ancient art of embarrassment had been difficult for him to come to learn. Yet, as Dimitri’s friendship with Byleth grew, Lambert’s capacity for ‘dad-ness’ grew alongside it. 

The teasing worked, causing an infection of pink blotches to color his son’s pale face. His mouth twisted into something that resembled disgust, with some humiliation mixed in for spice. Lambert seemed to revel in it. 

“W-We’ve been friends for a while,” he sat up, grabbing Byleth’s arm and helping her stand from the ground, “it’s just… it is what it is.”

It is what it is, the perfect explanation for any situation. Lambert himself used that on a few diplomatic visits in the past as well. “I’m just happy to see you two getting along.” And not at each other’s necks, as the first several weeks of Byleth’s stay had been. 

Dimitri, obviously, wished to no longer continue the subject. With Byleth up and rubbing her side like an arthritic grandmother, he grabbed her arm to pull her away from his father. She resisted his pull with her own bout of strength, and a scowl to match. “You’re not mad at us?” Her eyes were curious, slightly fearful. Lambert had learned to watch the girl closely if he wanted to discern what she felt. A simple glance would do her no justice. 

He chose to not answer her question, instead laying a fatherly hand on her shoulder. “I think you both falling on your rumps is punishment enough, right?”

Dimitri was entirely ready to leave with the mention of 'rumps'. He held onto Byleth’s arm like a rope in tug of war. The splotches in his cheeks remained as a reminder of his insecurity, and something Lambert took deep note of. He merely offered his father a quick nod, “It didn't hurt too bad. We're fine, goodbye!"

Lambert’s eyes narrowed. 

Dimitri stiffened. His eyes widened. 

Byleth merely looked confused. 

“Where’s my humble boy?” The king titled his head innocently, “You’re usually so bashful when you do something like this. Don’t tell me you’re becoming a bad influence, not on Byleth!”

A gasp, “No! I’m not!”

Byleth pursed her lips together. It was _she_ who was the bad influence.

Dimitri had been caught on the hook. He was an innocent fish that ran into the wrong trap, and now floundered aimlessly under his father’s all-knowing gaze. He gulped, he shifted, he rocked on his heels. Byleth watched with furrowed brows as the silent war was carried out between the Blaiddyds. 

She blinked. Lambert ignored her as his eyes narrowed. “What’re you planning?”

“Nothing!” A loud outburst. A dog barked nearby in reply, making Dimitri flinch. 

“You’re acting avoidant,” the King explained heavily, “you’re not wanting to speak to me, you’re trying to get away. You’re hiding something that you don’t want me to figure out.”

“I’m utterly confused, myself,” Byleth put a small hand to her chest, “I’ve never hid anything in my life.”

Lambert turned the narrowed eye stared to her, making her flinch. “I’ve heard stories about you from your father, missy.”

She had been caught. The spotlight rested on both children, who withered under Lambert’s gaze. Between the two of them, it was quickly discovered that Dimitri was the more genuine one, by far, and Byleth was more willing to be secretive. To keep a secret to Dimitri was to put him in ropes and bind him, to keep him confined. In his eyes, life was easier when the truth was displayed for everybody to see. 

He broke. 

“Byleth’s coming to the ball tonight!”

His words ran together in a jumbled mess, yet Lambert managed to let every syllable drip into him. He frowned, he softened, then frowned deeper. Byleth withered even further until she felt like a puddle of mud on the ground at his feet. 

Dimitri bubbled with emotion. He clasped his hands together and dropped his head. Lambert could only offer a sigh and a pat upon his blond hair, “Son.”

“I know.”

Byleth just wanted to disappear. Her stomach churned with anxiety as she squeaked, “I thought it was okay. Dima told me it would be okay.”

Lambert caught himself, “I-It is, By, I promise. To me,” he put a sincere hand to his chest, “it _is_. I’d love for you to be there, but…”

There was always a but. Dimitri frowned in barely concealed frustration as he glared at the ground. 

The open ended sentence hung in the air between the three. Lambert grimaced and dropped his hand. His knees were beginning to ache from squatting for so long. He knelt further until he rested on his legs in the grass. Brushing dead twigs and leaves from his son’s back, he spoke as he worked, “Maybe she can stay in your room during the ball.”

The suggestion was light and airy, but important to the boy before him. Both he and Byleth lit with the prospect of hope on the horizon. Dimitri raised his head to search his father’s face for lies, “Really?”

Hesitantly, he smiled, “If Jeralt is okay with it.”

That was enough for the children. Lambert knew that it wasn’t the ball in particular that tempted Byleth, but the opportunity to commingle with others her age. There had to be a line drawn in the sand before any officialities were made, and he drew that line with a wave of his hand, “She cannot enter the ballroom, though, if other nobles were to see her they would… uh, have a cow, per say.”

Byleth furrowed her brows. She leaned into Dimitri to whisper, “I’ve never seen a cow in Faerghus.”

“It’s metaphorical.”

Both children stared with confusion. Dimitri blinked, “What’s metaphorcleal mean?”

“Nothing,” he patted their still grassy and dirty backs, and stood from his spot, “just go play. Remember my rules. And ask Jeralt first.”

It was decided, and the King earned determined nods from the children. Satisfied, he stood and walked back around the hedges, dogs in tow. A soldier waited for him at the edge to approach and return to his station. Byleth watched the King's retreating figure until he was out of sight. Once again, she would prove herself to be the bad influence - not that she cared much at the time. 

Dimitri turned on his heel to begin making his way to the training grounds where Jeralt worked with young men hoping to achieve knighthood. Byleth grabbed his arm to halt his tracks, earning an inquisitive glance. She only stared at him through her lashes. It was a devious look, flattered by the crooked smirk that graced her lips. “We’re not telling my father.”

He was taken aback, “Why not?”

“Because he’ll say no,” it was clear and honest, a perfect prediction of what she knew of the future, “and I promised you that I’d try my best to meet your friends. I _can’t_ break a promise.”

Anxiety churned in his chest, yet Dimitri found himself nodding along to her. A promise was a promise, and Lambert taught him to never break them. He bit his lip and hesitated, “Are you sure he’ll say no?”

“Yes,” a nod of affirmation, “he wanted me to stay home tonight, and didn't tell me why. I think it's because of the ball!”

It confused Dimitri that Jeralt would hide the ball from his daughter, as he had been doing that kind of fancy stuff since he was a baby in his mother’s arm. He was never hurt by them, if one didn't count being bored as hurt. Confused, he tilted his head, “Why not?”

Byleth could only offer a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, “Don’t know.”

“Do you not think that maybe…” he tasted the argument on his tongue, slowly and thoughtful as he untangled his thoughts, “he has a reason for that?”

Byleth blinked. 

“No.”

“Okay,” Dimitri accepted her answer with the carelessness of a boy on the verge of wisdom beyond his years, just falling short of the mark, “if you think it’s best then we won’t tell him.”

“Good,” she ruffled his hair, earning a scowl, “you’re getting better at keeping secrets, Dima.”

He was. The power of her approval earned him a proud glow for at _least_ two minutes - until they started their argument over whether the castle was haunted or not. The secret of Byleth's disobedience was kept as well as two six year olds could possibly hope for. 

Which wasn't very well. 

* * *

“Your room is _huge_!”  
  


Dimitri couldn’t help but disagree. He eyed the four corners with slight disdain, though Lambert frequently reminded him to simply be grateful for what he had in life. His toys took up a corner, while his bed sat in the middle. A large dresser with a mirror sat on the other end, adjacent to the glass doors that led to the balcony. The furniture was simple and wooden, having lasted in the castle for generations before him. 

“It’s actually one of the smaller rooms,” he explained as he shut the door behind him, “father thinks it should teach me humility to take a room smaller than the guests.”

“He may be right,” Byleth remarked airily, “but this is _really_ big to me.”

“How big is your room in your house?”

Her lips pursed. She glanced away to stare at the sliding glass doors at the head of the bedroom, providing light from the constant winter sun. While they were not so far North to have a never setting sun, the days lasted longer in Fhirdiad than they did in other parts of Fodlan. It could be 9 p.m. and still light outside, making bed time very difficult for the young ones. 

Now, as the evening drew near, the sun still shined through the doors of the balcony. Byleth watched the shadows of the mountains in the distance stare back at her. “It’s not big,” finally, she answered, “but it works.”

Dimitri eyed her with growing suspicion. The downside to Byleth’s expertise in secret keeping was her ever growing vagueness. He asked no questions, for he had a feeling she wouldn’t give details, and moved on to the next subject at hand. 

“So, the ball is just starting,” he moved to his dresser to dig around in the rumpled, messily tossed clothing, “I think I have some books around here somewhere to keep you company.”

“You keep books in your dresser?”

He squinted at the pile of materials, “I keep books everywhere.”

She huffed, “You can’t even read!”

“I try!” He produced a picture book from under a set of baggy training pants. He held it in the air with a triumphant grin, “This one’s good, you’ll love it!”

Byleth accepted the book and held it to her chest like a treasure. Pleased with her reverence of his favorite literature, he scoured the rest of the room for something similar. He poked his head into the closet, he dug in his nightstand drawers, and he crawled under the bed. Not before long, Byleth had amassed a tower of thin children’s books to sit beside her as a prize for Dimitri’s expedition. 

She sat on the floor with her legs crossed. The small fireplace was crackling with warmth, and she basked in it’s breath. Dimitri watched her with satisfaction, “You’ll be really entertained! And when I have a chance I’ll come up and see you!"

She was entirely too prepared. She sent him a reassuring grin, “You have grass in your hair still.”

As fervently as Dimitri tried to pick the grass out, there it remained. He frowned in frustration, "It'll blend in, I gotta go," he turned on his heel and opened the door, "if you get scared there's a sharp stick in the closet!"

Byleth glanced in the direction of the stick warily, "Thank you."

Nodding, he left Byleth in his room with the fire and the books for comfort as he ran to meet his father at the top of the steps of the ballroom. His mind was distracted with thoughts of his most recent friend. Questions trailed through his brain with no sign of ending, wondering if she was pleased with the books, or if she was uncomfortable being left alone. The castle could get scary at night, he knew that for sure, and hoped that she wasn’t frightened by herself. 

Lambert held a reassuring hand to his son’s back - picking off more dead grass sticking to his blue woolen tunic in the process. “Shoulder’s straight.”

It was a mumble, yet commanding enough to draw Dimitri up into his proper posture like a puppet on a string. He smiled widely for the crowd at the bottom of the stairs and offered a small wave of his hand. 

“May I announce, His Majesty King Lambert Egitte Blaiddyd! And,” Dimitri braced against the ultra loud baritone of the announcer, “His Highness, Prince Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd!”

A chorus of polite claps. Lambert offered another pat of his back, “Now, try not to trip.”

He just _had_ to bring that up again. Dimitri tripped _once,_ a year ago. He was only five at the time, practically a _baby_ compared to the ripe age of six now. He would not dare to trip. 

The stairs were much too tall, and much too bright and golden for Dimitri’s taste. Yet, walking down them always gave him a thrill. He simply had to imagine everybody at the bottom of the stairs in their underwear, and his nervousness dissipated like a fog. He closed his eyes, and took it one step at a time, his father’s guiding hand always at his back. 

Byleth. Byleth. Was she frightened? Was she bored?

Finally, he arrived at the bottom. Above him, a couple was being announced. Their names he didn’t care to commit to memory. His father’s hand left him and set him free as he greeted nobles that swarmed like a colony of flies. Dimitri slipped through the bodies and kept his eyes open for his dear friends. These grand parties never interested the higher minded Dimitri. In his humble opinion, he had far more important matters to attend to than the schmoozing of old people that he could never remember the name of. His short stature allowed him to slip through the crowd with relative ease. 

Faerghus had changed little over the years in it’s customs for gatherings. Public festivals were loud and always flowing with beer, and the private parties of the nobility tended towards the more calm and proper, with an underlying sense of dread, treachery, and nobles desperately hiding their drunkenness behind heavy scarves and woolen cloaks. 

Dimitri, being quite young and not even sure what the word ‘treachery’ meant, knew none of this. All he knew was what he heard, and it wasn’t anything he even had even begun to understand. “They’re serving bear again,” said a grizzled old man whose arm Dimitri slipped under, “I miss when they used to catch river monsters and we’d fight over the best pickins! Kids these days.”

As interesting as that sounded, the young prince had to move on. There certainly was enough space in the large ball room to not have everybody pushed up against each other, yet the nobles seemed to prefer invading each other’s personal space. It was for a mix of eavesdropping, and warmth. The nights in Faerghus raged as cold as winter no matter the season of the day. 

The edge of the crowd neared. The appetizer tables were being swarmed, but on the outskirts he caught sight of curly red hair and a wolfish grin - as wolfish as an eight year old could manage. 

Before Dimitri could make his approach a finality, a set of bony fingers wrapped around his forearm like a nightmare itself. He froze, feeling himself tugged away from Sylvain as the owner of the hand spoke, “Little prince! Oh, you can’t just walk by without saying hello!”

Dimitri couldn’t remember her name, but she was from the West. He sent her a smile not unlike his father’s, and racked his brain for what regions were in the West. Kleinman? Rowe? She showed all of her teeth when she smiled and he wanted to recoil. 

“Hello,” he offered a quick bow as she finally released his arm, “it's very nice to see you again!”

It was not enough for the noble lady, “How have you been, little prince? Has your family been faring well?”

Another sweet smile that was entirely too forced, “Yes, we have!”

“Your father?”

“Good!”

“Do you miss your mother?”

Dimitri almost grimaced. Even a six year old knew better than to ask of such things. “Never knew her, ma’am.”

“Oh,” she fluttered, “but you must feel _some_ sense of loss,” he did, but _speaking_ of it was another matter, “I would make a _wonderful_ mother, you know. I care so deeply fo-”

“Oh hello,” the slip of an elegant hand that snatched the noble lady’s away, a calculated smile that held no warmth, and tendrils of red hair stole Dimitri’s view. “How have you been? It’s been ages.”

The noble lady looked irritable to have her conversation with the young prince interrupted, yet she proved too polite to refuse speaking to the castle mage herself. “Cornelia! I’ve been well, and you?” 

Dimitri now stood behind Cornelia, who had slipped her way between the two so smoothly. She glanced over her shoulder behind the round, frameless glasses and sent a calculating look to the young prince, “Dimitri, go and play while the adults talk, won’t you?”

Another hurried bow filled with appreciation, “Thank you Miss Cornelia!” 

“Shoo,” demanded the mage, “on with you, boy.”

And on the boy went, grateful for the mage's calculated eye. Cornelia often saved the Blaiddyds from unwanted conversation, so much so that Lambert frequently joked about making her a bodyguard instead of a mage. Now released from the clutches of power seeking nobility, Dimitri nearly ran to Sylvain’s side. The crowd thinned as he reached the corner where the youngest Gautier stood in wait. Pale cheeks and a wolf smile turned kind and excited as he noticed the prince coming his way. 

“Dima!” A loud whisper and outspread arms, wrapping around the prince in a tight bearhug the second he came closer, “you’ve gotten shorter!”

Dimitri pushed against Sylvain’s chest in friendly protest, “I’ll be taller than you one day, just you wait!”

Sylvain, being eight years old and having taking up training far more than his friend, could easily keep the prince close to him as he shook and squeezed. Once the air in Dimitri’s body had been significantly drained by the hug, Sylvain released him with a huff and a mischievous smile. 

Dimitri stumbled back, yet he smiled even more largely. “Syl,” he caught his breath and steadied his footing before continuing with wide eyes, “Syl, I’ve got something- or, uh, _someone_.”

The hint of a spark. Sylvain perked up with interest, “Someone?”

“In my room,” Dimitri dissolved into a whisper, “a girl. My friend Byleth-”

“ _There’s_ _a_ _girl_ _in_ _your_ _room_?”

He blinked, “Yes, that’s what I said. Anyway-”

“There’s a _girl_ ,” he smacked his forehead, “in _your_ room?”

Dimitri spoke more slowly, “Yes…? A girl. Uh, anyway-”

Sylvain continued to ignore him, “I’ve got to tell Felix.” He looked around the room in search for his young friend.

Flabbergasted, Dimitri only watched. There was only but a small inkling of understanding between the two. Dimitri couldn’t quite grasp why his words entranced Sylvain so, yet he _could_ make assumptions to the moon and back. Putting his hands on his hips, he sent the Gautier a flat look, “Oh, you’re jealous because my father lets me hang out with girls.”

He snorted, “I’m not _jealous_ , Dima, I’m just proud of you.”

There was nothing to be proud of, as Dimitri had _plenty_ of friends that were girls. And he had a room where they could stay, his father had even decreed it so. The mind of an eight year old simply worked differently, so oddly and mysteriously. Dimitri nodded to himself, understanding that he simply could not understand the nuances of life as Sylvain, aged eight, could. Nonetheless, Dimitri would accept his friend’s proudness with no question. 

Sylvain stepped away, fixing the collar of his grey wool jacket so it stuck up around his face. He nodded in affirmation, “Miklan is outside with Glenn training. I was gonna find Felix and go watch them, do you want to come?”

Dimitri lit up. It had been so long since he’d seen Glenn and Miklan. The two always seemed so busy when they visited the capital, and Miklan was infinitely uninterested in the going ons of those younger than him. Glenn was far kinder, and if he had time, he always showed Dimitri a few moves with the sword. 

“Yes,” he gave an affirmative nod, “I’ll bring Byleth!”

Sylvain looked at him as if he was skeptical for the existence of this ‘Byleth’, like Dimitri had created the mysterious girl in his room. Nonetheless, he sent him a nod of his head, and disappeared into the crowd to locate Felix. 

It was risky to disappear from his father’s view, yet he had a few years left in him to shirk his responsibilities and run around the castle like a mad man. Sticking close to the wall, Dimitri made his way to the staircase that led to the bedrooms. Once he reached the stairs, he took off into a run, farther and farther away from the curious eyes of the nobility. 

The sound of the orchestra beginning their first piece reached his ears. Waltz, he never liked them much, and was often told that he had ‘two left feet’, which was a confusing statement because Dimitri had inspected his feet and they looked quite normal. He could bear to miss out on the waltz, at least this time. 

He ran to his room, which was up yet another flight of stairs. If it was not being used for the ball, he would prefer to climb in the dumbwaiter and be lifted up. He knew that it would not be received well at this time, and breathlessly took the stairs instead. 

Byleth waited for him with her tower of books halfway gone. She was surrounded by the vibrant pictures spread out in front of her on the floor. She looked up as Dimitri entered, shadows from the flickering flames dancing across her blank expression. 

He shut the door behind him and rested his back against it, watching her, “Soooo…”

Her lips pursed, “So? How was the ball?”

The total of five minutes he had spent in the ball. It felt like forever since he’d left Byleth in his room, though he knew that it had not been very long. “It was fine,” his answer was casual and loose, “there’s something way more exciting happening though.”

She lit up, “Did someone die?”

“No!” His eyes widened, “We were just going to the training ground!”

“Oh,” she deflated back into boredom, “that’s fine too.”

Into the hallway and down the stairs they went, arm in arm through the growing shadows of night. Finally, the sun was setting and replaced by the blue seeping in through the windows. Dimitri always found the hallways frightening, as they stretched on and on with no visible end. Realistically, he knew that there was an end, and would remind himself of such a fact, yet he couldn’t help but imagine a giant, gnarled hand reaching out for him from the shadows. Often, he ran down the halls to get out of the shadows more quickly. 

Byleth seemed visibly unaffected by the casting of the waning light against the walls. Her face was impassive while Dimitri pulled her along, keeping the same expression as they reached the set of stairs that led to the next level. 

“You’ll get to see the ball too,” he whispered, “have you ever seen one?”

“No,” her answer was light, “I mean, I’ve bounced one, but not the party kind.”

After the second flight of stairs, the children emerged in the far corner of the grand ballroom. They stuck to the wall like glue, yet took a moment to observe the intricate line dances in the center of the room. 

Byleth’s eyes lingered on Lambert at the head of the dance. He spun a smiling woman around, stepped away, bowed, and stepped diagonally to spin a different woman. They traded places, then bowed again, while the women curtsied. She watched with the upmost curiosity, “That looks hard.”

Dimitri nodded with pursed lips, “It is. If you mess up then the whole line messes up.”

“So much pressure,” she tsked, “I’m _never_ doing that.”

They weren’t Dimitri’s favorite either. And he was usually much too small to join anyway, though often the older nobility got some sick kick from watching the children fumble their way through a line. 

With all eyes on the intricate dance in the middle of the room, Byleth and Dimitri could sneak past with very little notice on them. Staying glued to the wall, they made their way to the large sliding doors that led to the courtyard. 

The cool air of the night was a welcome change from the stuffiness of the overcrowded ballroom. Byleth drank in fresh air with a smile while it cut through her clothes with a sting. Releasing her arm, Dimitri began a more casual walk towards the training grounds. In the distance, the sound of childish yells reached his ears. 

“They’re already there,” he informed smartly. Byleth wasn’t entirely sure who ‘they’ were, yet judging by the sound of the yells it seemed like more young boys. She huffed under her breath, hoping to make at least one female friend in her time at the castle. 

After rounding a set of spiky bushes - there were a lot of thorny things in the gardens, though Faerghus could grow little else - the training grounds revealed themselves ahead. It was like a small stadium, with a set of seats and benches placed at the sides for spectators, all facing the trampled ground surrounded by straw dummies. Not far from the training area was the shed housing all of the wooden weapons used for practice. Byleth had resisted the urge so far to break into the shed and have her way with the swords. 

In the middle of the training ground, under the darkening sky, were two boys, one looking the oldest at about 11. They seemed so tall to the younger children who watched them swing at each other with their weapons. 

Byleth lit up upon seeing a head of long, blonde hair watching the fight. Dimitri leaned in to whisper, “That’s Ingrid, she’s the one with the pegasi.” Ingrid, a girl, like her. A girl with interesting horses. As odd as Byleth found flying horses to be, it was an exciting prospect. A sudden wave of nervousness washed over her as they approached Dimitri’s friends. 

“Hey,” he greeted with an air of fake nonchalance, “what’re you doing?”

He knew what they were doing, but it sounded cooler to ask. 

Three heads turned to look. Byleth offered a nervous smile as the eyes of the red haired boy widened. He stared, turning around completely to look her up and down. She bit her lip while she watched him watch her. 

The dark haired boy scoffed and elbowed him, “Stop it. I told you she was real.”

“Yeah,” the girl nodded smartly, “Dima wouldn’t lie!”

He nodded in pride, “I wouldn’t, Ingrid is right.” As Ingrid always was. 

Byleth shuffled in place. She felt odd in her own skin, yet it was hers and all she had. Her dress was cheaper, thinner, and not nearly as nice as Ingrid’s. Her hair was messier than even the boys, but they didn’t look at her hair. They just stared at her while she stared at them. 

Clearing her throat, it was time to break the silence. “My name is Byleth…”

Dimitri was proud of his new friend, and it showed in his smile. “She’s really nice! She _already_ uses a sword!”

Bashful, her shoulders shrunk just the slightest, “A little one… it’s actually a dagger.” She didn’t even have it on her person at that moment, yet she wished she did. Pulling out the nicely made blade might’ve impressed the warrior-folk of Faerghus - it did _not_ impress the people of Adrestia, she had discovered a year earlier in her travels. 

Such talk of swords was enough to halt the fighting of the older boys behind the group. The dark haired one’s eyes widened and he straightened up, while his red haired partner groaned in annoyance. He stopped mid-strike and rolled his eyes, “Glenn! You can’t just stop whenever you want!”

“Sure I can,” he sent him a quieting glance, “We have a newcomer and it’d be rude to ignore her.”

His partner snorted derisively, “Since when did you start caring about politeness?”

“Since she mentioned daggers,” he laid his sword down and stepped towards Byleth. It was difficult to make his features out under the darkening evening sky, yet Byleth could see the half ponytail thrown over his shoulder, and the angular cheeks that made up pieces of a face that _could_ be handsome if given time. 

She watched him approach. Felix’s eyes were squinted with confusion while his brother took the place at his side. Ingrid grinned with girlish delight, “Byleth, this is Glenn.” She said his name as if it was sweet on her tongue. 

He sent her a smile. He seemed so much older, though he hadn’t even reached ten yet. “Who taught you how to fight with a dagger?”

She attempted to look as casual as possible, “My father. We’re going to graduate to swords soon.” She desperately hoped that ‘graduate’ was the correct word to use, she wasn’t entirely sure. 

He knelt down to her eye level. He wasn’t too much bigger than her, but he seemed to enjoy his seniority over the group, acting older and wiser than he truly was. “My father always says that daggers are one of the hardest weapons to learn.”

Felix and Sylvain lit up with interest behind him. Dimitri shuffled in unabashed pride at his friend’s conversation with the most honorable and approved Glenn Fraldarius. His younger brother perked his head, “He does?”

Glenn sent a nod over his shoulder to Felix, “He does. Daggers are small and don’t do the most damage, but if you know how to use it,” he mimicked a stabbing movement, “you can end someone before they even know what happened.”

From his spot on the training field, the other boy snorted at the imagery. Ingrid’s nose crinkled in disgust, yet the boy’s eyes were all wide with fascination. While Byleth didn’t know very much about the world, she could tell the differences in the people from other countries. Faerghus appreciated a good weapon, a good fighting stance, and preparedness for anything. It was something she could get used to.

How she wished she had her dagger on her then. Nodding in affirmation, she sent Glenn a polite smile, “Does your father use one?”

“When he needs to,” Glenn stood up and returned to the field, “every warrior should carry one.”

As wise as the information seemed, Byleth still had her desire to use a sword. Jeralt stated that she wasn’t quite ready for it yet, but her movements with the dagger were sharp and precise. How much more difficult could a sword be? 

Dimitri rocked excitedly on his heels. He seemed like a ball of energy at all times, body constantly moving in some sort of show of excitement. Usually, it was a knee bounce, but he had started to take on Byleth’s nervous rocking on his feet in imitation of her. “Glenn, can I train too?”

The red haired boy rolled his eyes large and heavy. With a groan of annoyance, he turned away and tossed his wooden lance aside. Sylvain grimaced as he watched, “Miklan, father says we need to take turns.”

“Screw it,” he profaned, stomping away, “I shouldn’t have to take turns with you punks.”

Sylvain shifted uncomfortably. Dimitri sent him a concerned glance, but the amused snort coming from Glenn was enough to reassure him. “Ignore him, he’s just an ass.”

Ingrid’s lips pursed in disapproval, yet she said nothing. Byleth took the place beside her hesitantly, yet it was exactly where she wanted to be. The blonde sent her a polite, friendly smile, and Byleth returned it as best as she possibly could. 

Already, she felt included. As included as she could be with having just met them. Felix and Sylvain stared at her as if she had two heads, but it was something she could get used to. Glenn had indoctrinated her in his own odd way, and that was enough. 

Dimitri made a quick beeline to the weapons shed. After a second of loud rustling, he emerged with a sword far larger than he was, but he held it with ease while approaching the training field. Glenn snorted through his nose, but Dimitri’s face was serious and filled with determination. 

He readied himself. He fixed his footing and stance. He held the wooden sword out, while Glenn imitated him. 

And with a flash and a footstep, Dimitri was unarmed. 

His face fell. Sylvain giggled. Byleth furrowed her brows, “Are you okay?”

Dimitri rubbed his hand and picked the sword back up from its place on the ground. “Yes, I’m fine.” he readied himself once more while Glenn took a step back, “Again?”

“Sure,” Glenn humored him. 

This time, Felix took a deep breath and put his hand out, “One, two… three!”

Another swipe and step forward. Dimitri stumbled back and tried to block, but the sword was already out of his hands. It clattered on the ground and made a cloud of dust puff into the air. Once Glenn stepped back with triumph, the prince’s face fell as he realized that he had lost yet again. 

Ingrid, while concerned for Dimitri, was entirely too giddy at Glenn’s victory. Byleth’s loyalties lied with her friend, on the other hand. “Maybe that’s too big for you,” she suggested, “you can’t keep a grip on it.”

He huffed and picked it back up, “I need to try!”

“You have,” she spoke slowly, “maybe a smaller sword?”

Next to her, Sylvain shook his head, “It’s not that. It’s that he’s holding it wrong. His hand placement is all wacky.”

Byleth took a closer look. It was difficult to make out much in the darkness, yet she could see Dimitri’s straight limbs and bent shoulders. He pulled his right elbow back and twisted his body, just like she saw her father do many times before. 

It was a spark of realization that hit her. She perked up and yelled, “Dima, use a lance!”

“Huh?” He sent her a confused look through the dark of the night. Glenn nodded as he watched the prince hold the sword like a lance, an incredibly silly sight. 

“Pick up the lance,” she pointed to Miklan’s discarded training weapon, “try that!”

Complying, he set the sword down and tried the lance. He took the same stance, yet it looked far better as he faced down Glenn. Once again, Felix readied the battle with a wave of his hand, “One, two… three!”

Glenn took off towards Dimitri. Going easy on him, he would not psyche him out, and instead take a straight jab towards his shoulder. Dimitri watched the movement of his sword and took Glenn’s wide opening under his arms to jab the lance straight towards his hip.

Glenn, knowing what was coming, stepped and swiped correctly at the prince no matter the counter measures taken. Dimitri had still lost, yet he held his weapon better, and held himself with more confidence. That was enough for Byleth to cheer and congratulate him. He held his side as he stumbled from Glenn’s hit, but managed the smallest of smiles for Byleth on the sidelines. “You look so much better,” she complimented, “you actually _tried_ hitting him!”

His face fell, “I was trying to hit him earlier too!”

Ingrid giggled next to her, “He’s got a few years on you, Dima. Sorry.”

It was a fact he couldn’t argue with. All he could ask for was a chance, and the lance seemed to give him the closest to that. Glenn offered a pat on his shoulder, “Your form was much better.”

It was. Dimitri glowed with the approval of his idol. Miklan had long disappeared, and the air of the company had lifted with newfound comfort and friendship. Byleth’s discomfort began to dissolve as she joked around with the boys and Ingrid. 

It was enjoyable to have friends. In Byleth’s loneliest moments during her travels, she would pretend the trees were her friends, or rocks that looked vaguely face-like. It was nice to have a living being next to her that wasn’t her father or some seedy mercenary that traveled alongside them. 

The joy was soon replaced by fear as the sound of footsteps crunching gravel reached her ears. She froze, remembering _who_ she was and what was happening at the castle. Her father was guarding the grounds that night, and had no idea that she was still at the castle, and not at home where he expected her to be. 

Quickly, she slunk behind Sylvain. He perked in curiosity at the girl now holding onto his back. “My father doesn’t know I’m here.”

Sylvain, ever the gossip, lit with the excitement of a scandal. He backed away, with Byleth following with ease. Dimitri watched as her friend retreated, using Sylvain as a shield.

Beyond the bushes surrounding the training fields, the crunch of gravel drew closer. “By?” Jeralt called, unseen, “Are you there?”

Immediately, Dimitri dropped his training lance and followed his friend. She broke away from Sylvain and hid behind the corner of bushes. Dimitri quickly joined her in the retreat, “How’d you know it was him?” He whispered.

“Recognized his footsteps,” she hurriedly replied as they took off into a run, “He walks really loudly.”

Behind them, unseen, the sound of conversation reached her ears. “Have you seen my daughter? She’s about this high and-”

“No sir!” Ingrid’s polite soprano answered with ease, “We haven’t seen a soul!”

Glenn answered next, voice carrying across the gardens while the two retreated, “I think I saw some girl on the other side of the courtyard…”

Jeralt hummed, “Well, she wasn’t home when I checked earlier. I’d hate to send the dogs out to find her.”

Byleth squeaked. Not the dogs. Anything but those slobbery, huge, stinky beasts that Lambert used when hunting. They’d never hurt her, but the drool soaking through her hair was gross enough for her to avoid them. 

“Come on,” Dimitri whispered, grabbing her hand and pulling her along, “we can hide in my room.”

Back through the gardens, across the courtyard and to the back doors. It was the long way around the castle, but it would keep them away from the lights of the ballroom. Byleth followed Dimitri’s path to safety. 

He slowed as they reached the doors. This part of the castle was more quiet and dark, with the occasional meandering servant that would ask no questions. He led her up the stairs and back to his bedroom where the fire warmed it orange and red. 

The running, along with the excitement of almost being caught in the disobedient act by her father, had tired the young ones out. Despite feeling dirty and hungry, Byleth immediately collapsed onto Dimitri’s bed with a huff and heave. 

It was big enough to fit two. Dimitri crawled beside her. Neither made any moves to get under the covers, as they were still in their outside clothes that provided enough heat. Byleth closed her eyes and revelled in her friend laying next to her. 

“Can I just stay here?” She asked no one in particular, “This is so much more comfy.”

“Than what?”

She opened her eyes and glared at the ceiling, “I sleep in a hammock in the kitchen. It was fun at first but now… it’s kinda hard.”

Dimitri wasn’t entirely sure what a hammock was, but it didn’t sound very nice. He turned to face Byleth, studying her profile in the dark, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she closed her eyes again, “not your fault. Father sleeps on the floor. We’re used to it.”

It was the smallest of inklings, barely there and barely understandable, but Dimitri felt it. He felt it in his stomach, in his brain, in his heart. To put the feeling into words was nearly impossible for the young boy, but he would try his best. 

“I have this big bed,” he began slowly, “but you… don’t?”

She shook her head drowsily.

“That’s... not fair.”

Her reply was not unlike an adult's, “Life isn’t fair.”

And it was true, as much as he hated it. 

Closing his eyes, he moved closer to Byleth. There were no thoughts about equality, none about properness and gender, none of attraction nor the future. It was Byleth, his friend who lived close and could play with him every day. 

It was an hour later when Lambert finally approached Jeralt outside the sliding doors of the ballroom. He grimaced, though the amusement was evident in his eyes, “A servant has informed me that they’re asleep in Dima’s room.”

Jeralt lacked any show of concern. “I had a feeling. Those other kids are terrible liars.”

Lambert allowed a breathy laugh, “You can get her when you feel like it. I’m okay with her even spending the night.”

“Yeah,” he crossed his arms thoughtfully, covering the crest of the Blaiddyd lion on the chest piece of his new armor, “it might be nice for her to sleep in a real bed for a night. She might stop having those weird dreams.”

The statement piqued the King’s curiosity. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure no nobility were close enough to hear the passed whispers. He leaned in further to his old friend, “Dreams?”

“Yeah,” a grimace, “she’s a weird kid. I love her, but…”

Lambert placed a friendly hand on his shoulder, “No need to explain, my friend. You’re always free to ask Cornelia for help, you know. She works wonders.”

“I might have to.” Jeralt gazed over Lambert’s shoulder with a far away look in his eyes, “Sometimes I worry about her. She’s just… I don’t know. We can talk about it later. Are you sure it’s okay for her to stay?”

“Of course! They’re sleeping soundly,” he reassured, “now, please, come have a drink and eat something. You’re part of this court too.”

As much as Jeralt disliked the fact, it was entirely true. He had managed to avoid stepping inside of the ballroom for the first few hours of it, but he supposed he had to face the music eventually. He stepped inside, him and Lambert making a beeline for the brewer in the corner, his station smelling of wheat and hops. 

“Thank you,” the knight allowed as he picked up a mug and filled it from the barrel, “I’ll have to talk to Cornelia later and ask if she’ll look at Byleth.”

Lambert raised his mug, "All manner of things shall be well, old friend. Don't worry, just for tonight."


	3. Byleth

Cornelia was a calculated and socially awkward woman, but kind enough to those in need. Fortunately, those in need were always her main clients.

A long week passed before Cornelia could finally see Byleth. The healer and mage usually busied herself in town during her days, walking among the people and making home visits to those who could not come to her. She was known for her intelligence, yet her bedside manner proved lacking. In Fhirdiad, though, there weren’t many other options. 

Jeralt had approached her at the ball, and she gave him a date a week from then. The date had come at last, and he basically dragged his terrified daughter through the castle halls to her office. 

Byleth could dig her heels in like an impertinent troll when she wished to. She held onto Jeralt’s hand with both of hers, and her feet were pushed together as she was dragged across the polished marble floor. Her boots left tracks in the polish, earning a groan of annoyance from the maid watching the scene in the corner. 

“Sorry,” Jeralt sent a nonchalant wave, “kids, you know how it is.”

Another scream from Byleth. She reared her head back and howled to the ceiling above, “I’m fine! I’m not sick! I don’t need a doctor!”

“You’re old enough to walk, By,” he dragged her again, her feet screeching against the floor. She hung from his grip like a rag doll, digging her heels against his while he battled with her. Jeralt swore she just growled like an animal, and made a mental note to ask Cornelia about that as well. 

Finally, defeated, with his hand significantly more raw and tired than before, he let go. Come what may. 

Byleth flopped onto her back like a dropped toy. Her limbs were splayed out at her sides, and her face staring up at the ceiling blankly. Jeralt leaned over her, watching her pointedly ignore him. Her choppy bangs were pulled from her forehead with a flower pin that he had bought her in Gloucester, but the vibrant colors merely looked silly partnered with her blank, flat expression. 

“What’s up with you, kid?” He asked while leaning over her head. 

Her eyes flickered to him. Any sort of life that was previously there had flattened, matching her monotone voice, “I’m healthy.”

He could've rolled his eyes if she wasn't watching him. The first time she has a fit of overdramatics, and it's simply about seeing a doctor. What a stupid thing to be tantrum-ing over. 

“You still need a check up.”

“No I don’t.”

“Says you,” he made a grab for her arm once again, missing by just an inch as she yanked herself away and rolled onto her side. He huffed in annoyance, “Stop being a baby. You’re a big girl now.”

A humph. 

There was something other parents often said to Jeralt that he could never quite identify with. ‘Oh, I wish so-and-so was still a baby’, they would say, expecting him to agree. He didn’t, and  _ couldn’t _ . 

Byleth was a terrifying baby.

It wasn’t that she was scary in her actions, it was more so her  _ lack _ of actions. Byleth never cried, never smiled, and very rarely looked at anything with focus in her eyes. She was just blank, like a doll that ate and pooped without even a sound. 

Jeralt had made sure she wasn’t blind for start, yet he questioned if she was mute. At the age of one, she finally made the noise ‘aaaaauuu’ and Jeralt celebrated for days. The ‘aaaaauuu’ was said with the blankest of faces and in the most monotone a baby could manage, but it was a noise nonetheless, and Jeralt was absolutely starved for normality. 

With age came more expression, yet he could tell that she was often discomforted by human emotion. She could smile, she could be sad, and she could be angry, but she always seemed as if she was questioning herself while doing so. It was a steady learning process, and Jeralt celebrated with every new expression that graced her face. 

Except for now. He could do without the pouting, an expression that only started once she had become friends with Dimitri. 

With the very few tantrums she had in her life, Jeralt was not entirely educated in how to handle them. He simply stared down at his pouting daughter with confusion coloring his face. “You ready to go?”

“No.” It was a hiss. That was a good sign, a hiss was something new. 

He often saw other fathers using manipulation to get past their children’s moods - Lambert convincing Dimitri that a ghost haunted the blacksmith, in effect keeping the Prince far away from the dangerous tools that would injure him. And the example of Margrave Gautier telling Sylvain that if he ate the seeds of fruit then he would grow a tree in his stomach, this was apparently needed for Sylvain had choked on a peach pit once. Jeralt wasn’t entirely sure if he would be good at fatherly manipulation, but he could try his best.

Attempting to look soft, he put a hand on Byleth’s forehead, “Oh, kid, you’re burning up.”

“Yes," she huffed, "with anger.”

“No,” he spoke slowly and airily, “with a fever! You’re probably dying.”

Her eyes widened. She forced herself back to her angry expression before Jeralt would notice, instead glaring at the wall. Her arms were crossed as she laid on her side - the smell of the waxed floor was starting to bother her nose, but she would show no weakness in this most important moment. 

“Good, then I’ll  _ never _ have to see the doctor.”

Failure. Jeralt sighed, deciding to resort to a more hands-on measure of action. 

“Don’t say that,” he tucked a hand under her side and heaved her up into his arms, ignoring her squeak of protest, “you’re not allowed to leave me yet, kid.”

“Well,” she floundered with an exasperated titter, “ _ you’re _ not allowed to force me to see a doctor!”

“I am, because I’m your father.”

His blasted logic was too strong to argue against. She groaned in despair and flopped over, becoming a ragdoll in his arms once more. He carried her across the room and to the business side of the castle, where Cornelia did her work. Byleth hung loosely in his arms as he transported her through the hallways. 

“You’re too big for this,” he complained, “if I drop you it’s your fault.”

“I’m not heavy, you’re just lazy.”

“You’re gettin’ a mouth on you, kid,” he snickered, “where’d that come from?”

"My brain."

"Didn't know you had one of those."

Touche, father. She scowled and closed her eyes so she didn't have to look at him. Cornelia’s office loomed ahead. Byleth tilted her head lazily to catch a glimpse of her surroundings, yet lit instantly upon seeing who awaited her. Lambert stood beside the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. With excitement, she wiggled in Jeralt’s arms until he relinquished her, setting her down. 

Completely opposite of her previous mood, she ran to Lambert and wrapped him in a hug. His smile was as bright as the sun as he returned her tight grip with gusto. Byleth looked up at him, “Why’re you here?”

Lambert’s smile hid it’s own share of secrets, “To make sure you’re healthy, By.”

Despite it’s vagueness, the answer was good enough for her. Jeralt opened the door and Lambert shuffled inside with Byleth still hanging from his waist. Cornelia awaited them. She sat behind her desk with a stony face, her hair pulled into a ponytail at the back of her neck. She looked irritable to be bothered, yet this was the exact time Jeralt had been told to arrive. 

“Afternoon,” she greeted with a bored yawn, “Let’s just get this over with. Take a seat for me, won’t you miss Eisner?”

As hesitant as she was, she could comply easily. Her knees shook, so she was happy to take a seat. Jeralt and Lambert stayed standing on either side of her with a stiffness she recognized as nervousness. 

Cornelia was casual, the only one in the room that wasn’t overly concerned. She gathered a few papers and readied her quill as she sat behind the desk. Tapping it on the side of the well, her eyes raised behind her thick glasses to inspect the child sitting in front of her. 

“Have you coughed lately?”

Her nose wrinkled in confusion, “Do people usually keep track of their coughs?”

“Some do, yes.”

“I don’t…  _ think _ I have.”

“Do you have a deadly disease?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Do you itch anywhere?”

“On my left shoulder, yes.”

“Okay,” she scratched the quill against the paper, then glanced up once more, “have you had any nightmares?”

“I mean…” she shifted in her seat and gripped the bottom of the chair, legs swaying back and forth under her while she thought, “I guess so.”

“May I ask what kind?”

Jeralt laid a hand on her shoulder. Byleth tried to ignore her nervousness, “Just about people fighting. It’s not too scary because I’ve gotten used to it.”

She raised a manicured brow, “Fighting?”

“Yeah,” a nod, “like a war. A lady stabs a man and it ends.”

She hummed. Next to her, Jeralt gulped. Lambert merely watched with an unreadable, impassive expression. A face so unlike his usual charming smile. 

Cornelia sighed and sat back in her chair after some significant scratching of the paper. She folded her hands, “Any other dreams?”

A throne. Green fog. Cold stone against her cheek. A girl sleeping above her. 

It wasn’t scary at all. She felt at home in the cold fog, and the girl never opened her eyes. There was no threat in that dream, and the war tended to scare her far more than that mysterious throne room did. There was no blood in the throne room. 

“Just that one dream,” she lied, trying to seem nonchalant, “I don’t really dream of anything else.”

Lambert piped up for the first time since entering the room, “Is that normal, Cornelia? To have only one dream over and over?”

“No,” she snorted through her nose condescendingly, though she held no malice in her gaze behind those big, round glasses, “it’s  _ not _ normal. But she’s so young that I would like to give it more time. I want to see what happens when she’s older.”

Byleth saw no problem with her dreams. She had gotten used to the war, and it never hurt her. Jeralt still shifted uncomfortably next to her. His hand was heavy on her shoulder while he spoke, “That’s fine, and all, but what if it’s a problem  _ now _ ?”

Cornelia put her hand up, “I understand you’re concerned Sir Eisner, but only fools rush in. Give the dreams some time,” she pushed back from her desk, her chair making an ugly scraping sound against the hardwood floor, “she may just not be recalling her other dreams. I think we can move onto her physical now.”

Physical. Byleth’s nose crinkled and she pulled back further into her chair with disgust. “Nothing sharp, please.”

Cornelia approached with no tools, only her hands raised to show they were empty. Byleth's shoulders loosened while Cornelia lowered to her knees. Gently, she took Byleth’s hand and pressed her thumb deeply into her wrist for several seconds. Her head tilted while she mused and hummed in thought. 

“Nothing.”

“What?” Byleth perked up, confused, “What do you mean nothing?”

Jeralt only grimaced. Lambert sent him a questioning glance, though he looked as if he had been expecting it, and was seeing it for the first time himself. Cornelia gently lifted her wrist to the king. Byleth leaned up to reach Lambert more easily, who took her hand with ginger care. He leaned down and pressed his own thumb into her skin. 

After a second of feeling for something, he merely nodded. Jeralt’s grave look grew deeper. Byleth felt as if she had done something wrong. Her stomach churned and the sweat pooling on her palms seemed to grow more sticky. 

Once Lambert let her go, Cornelia neared once again and raised her hands. Byleth stayed still in her confused despair and allowed the healer to put a hand on her neck, to the left under her chin and press her fingers deep. 

Another nod. Her hand moved to her chest. Another nod. Byleth felt like an animal being dissected. 

“I’m going to check something,” Cornelia’s hands grew warm with a sunshiney magic. Byleth recognized it as a light magic spell, and knew that it would only tingle, so she merely nodded and allowed Cornelia to run her hands down Byleth’s limbs with the spell against her skin. 

It tingled, and smelled of burning paper. Having light magic applied directly, and at such close quarters, was always an uncomfortable feeling, sometimes causing suffocation if not done correctly. Byleth held her breath on her own and closed her eyes while the seconds passed. 

“It’s not the most accurate way to check,” Cornelia began, “but I  _ can _ sense a crest.”

Lambert now, “Can you tell what it is?”

“No,” she pursed her lips, “it’s too blurry. I would need an instrument made for this. But I can assure you that it's there.”

Lambert sent Jeralt a look. He returned it gravely over Byleth’s head. 

“That’s about all I can make out. Other than the…” she tasted the word on her tongue, “the, uh,  _ lack _ of what you asked about, she’s perfectly healthy, Sir Jeralt.” Cornelia stood from her spot and dusted the front of her dress off.

“Well that’s good,” Lambert offered hopefully, ever the optimist, “at least she’s healthy.”

Finally, the words set in. Uncomfortable and feeling put on the spot, Byleth crossed her arms with a glare at the wall over Cornelia’s shoulder, “I  _ told _ you I was healthy.”

Jeralt ruffled her head, messing up the flower pin in her hair. Byleth made no move to fix it and allowed a choppy piece of her bangs to fall over her eyes. “I should’ve believed you, kid.”

He should’ve, and he shall never not believe her again! She’ll make sure of it, because Byleth Eisner is always correct. Especially when it comes to her own health. 

As the three left the office, Byleth held Jeralt’s hand tightly. Once they were out the door and Cornelia behind them, her nervousness began to slip away. Above her, Jeralt and Lambert spoke in low tones that she could barely make out. 

“She can stay here as long as you need,” the king reassured, “she’s safe behind castle walls.”

Jeralt had a far away look that irritated Byleth. She couldn’t read her father’s face when he hid himself like that, and she felt betrayed for the secrets kept. He sighed deeply, “Thank you for the asylum. I... appreciate it more than you know."

A heavy pat against his shoulder that rang clear to Byleth’s ears. The king was reassuring in his own charming way, “Just keep training those soldiers like you do and we’ll be even.”

Asylum was an odd word, one that Byleth had never heard. Yet, it was said with such gratitude that she couldn’t help but think it was good. Tugging on her father’s sleeve to get his attention, her high voice interrupted their low conversation, “I would like to stay here."

While her face was blank, Jeralt knew that she was sincere. Sending a tired smile, he rubbed the back of his neck. Shows of appreciation were difficult for the old knight to express, yet he couldn't deny the comfort of having a steady home to live in, and not wandering from village to village. “Yeah, I do too.”

In Byleth's mind, his agreement was a promise that spoke more than he truly said. If he liked it, then he'd stay, which meant that  _ she'd _ stay. She had been waiting to bring this up since she had made her first real friend. “Can I stay here forever?”

Lambert raised his brows in amusement. Jeralt snorted, perhaps out of embarrassment. The King merely looked as if he was trying to not laugh, “I’ve got nothing against it.”

“Then it’s decided,” her little voice seeped with confidence, “I’ll stay here forever with Dimitri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions, or just simply enjoyed it, please leave a comment! I appreciate every little bit of feedback that I can get <3


	4. A Short Rivalry

“Look at that young maiden wielding a giant lance! How _adorable_!”

Embarrassment hit the prince like a slap to the face. He froze, mid strike, hands wrapped around the shaft of the lance so tightly his knuckles turned white. Despite the chill of autumn, his cheeks burned hotter than any fire. 

Byleth held her sword casually so the tip dug into the ground. Her free hand raised to her mouth, and she turned her head away so Dimitri couldn’t see her face. Her hair, which was the same length as his own, brushed over her cheeks to hide the growing smirk on her lips. 

Dimitri straightened his back and rested the lance over his shoulder, “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.”

“You’re right…” a threatening pause, “It’s _hilarious_.”

He chose to ignore that. On the sidelines of the training grounds where they stood, a small crowd had begun to form, eager to watch the prince and knight’s daughter spar. Daily, they crossed weapons, and it had become a spectacle for those interested in their growth. 

The perpetrator of Dimitri’s humiliation happened to be a young noble lady watching from a distance with her family. Dimitri pushed his hair from his face and looked past Byleth’s shoulder where the family stood, noting that her eyes widened as she took in his full, boyish form. Her cheeks dusted pink, yet she smiled, amused at herself nonetheless. “Sorry,” she waved with a laugh in her voice, “look at that young _sir_ wielding a giant lance. How, uh, _manly_!”

Nice save. Byleth glanced over her shoulder at the teenager in question, “Who’s that?”

He shrugged, “Lord Charon’s daughter, I think.”

“Well, she was correct.” Byleth earned a flat look from the prince. Smirking behind her hand again, she went on, “You _are_ pretty adorable.”

His lance pulled back, the end resting in the crook of his arm as his body twisted to conform to the lengthy weapon. “How’s this for adorable?” A quick step and jab, barely dodged by his fleet-footed partner. Byleth jerked away and swung her sword in instant retaliation. 

Dimitri dodged, jabbed, and ducked. Puffs of warm air escaped their mouths as they sparred viciously against each other. Despite the cold, both bodies quickly warmed with each movement. Beyond them, Lord Charon chastised his daughter for disrespecting the prince. Dimitri cared little for the offense any longer, and merely focused on Byleth’s dull blade as it swiped at him once again. 

Finally, Byleth took the offense. She stepped closer and locked Dimitri’s lance against him. Easily, his crest would’ve given him the strength to push her away, yet before he could hope to muster the thought, Byleth swiped her leg under him and stole his balance. His knee gave into her kick and he lost his grip on the lance.

She jerked away as he stumbled forward towards her. The lance clattered onto the hard ground while he followed it, dropping to one knee. The tip of her dull blade now pressed dangerously against his neck. Byleth’s body silhouetted darkly against the sky while she loomed over him, victorious, “You could’ve stopped that.”

An irritating reminder. Huffing, he pushed her sword aside. She stepped away and offered her hand, which went ignored in his frustration. He lumbered up from his place on the ground and snatched his lance from where it rolled away to, “Great, thanks for the advice, genius.”

Dimitri was rarely sardonic. The words tasted bitter in his mouth as he said them, followed by the vile taste of guilt. Byleth had taken to the sword in the way he only _wished_ he could. She was a prodigy, with reflexes that could match someone far above her level. Jeralt frequently reminded her of such. It felt unfair to the young prince that he had been training before he even learned to read, simply to be knocked down every day by a girl who only started her sword training one year prior.

Yet, as his father often reminded, ‘life isn’t fair’. He absolutely despised that phrase. 

The final nail in the metaphorical coffin happened to be Byleth’s height. For every inch Dimitri grew, she surpassed. For every milestone he took, she took two. For every new training move he learned, she had already mastered. While having been friends for two years, and feeling much older than he did when they had first met, she was still so far ahead of him. Despite being so affectionately referred to as a ‘young man’ by other nobles, he felt miniscule next to his best friend. 

Jeralt watched from the sidelines. Byleth, unaware of the inner turmoil that raged in her best friend, sent her father a casual wave. He returned her greeting with an equally casual thumbs up. Byleth and Jeralt had their own way of communicating that seemed to only make sense to the two of them. Hopeful, Dimitri scanned the crowd for any sign of his own father. 

Nothing. Just tittering nobles and interested soldier recruits. Not even Glenn was there to watch. His face fell into frustration that rooted even more deeply into his heart. It was a seed planted by jealousy, watered by rivalry, and sprouting by neglect - like a cactus, or an onion.

Jeralt approached, kicking up the dust as he walked across the trampled field. Dimitri straightened his shoulder as the knight came closer. He greeted him with a formal bow, “Sir Eisner!”

A sudden dismissive hand and a grimace, “No need for that stuff around me, kid.”

“Right,” he nodded, used to Jeralt’s casual manner, “I’m happy to see you, though, I wanted to talk about our training some more.”

The last conversation they had about training ended with Dimitri carrying buckets of rocks through the streets of Fhirdad. Jeralt never actually answered his original inquiry of ‘can you teach me how to do that swoop-like move you did last week?’ Dimitri did _not_ learn the swoop-like move that day. In his efforts to grow - and beat Byleth - he had taken up training with the other soldiers, alongside his private training with Gustave and Jeralt when the men were available from their regular duties. 

Jeralt raised a questioning brow, “And?”

“I…” want to finally beat Byleth, “would like to get stronger.”

He offered a tired smile, not unlike the ones Byleth would offer when she let her guard down. The Eisners lacked resemblance in hardly anything other than their facial expressions and body language, which were not incredibly expressive in the first place. There glimmered a certain kind of anticipation in the knight’s wrinkle-lined eyes, and Dimitri wasn’t entirely sure what it boded. 

“I can help with that,” he clapped both hands onto the children’s shoulders. Byleth melted into his touch, looking up at her father with curious eyes, “In fact, I’ve just made a new routine we can try.”

“A new routine?” She asked, “What is it?”

He cast an apologetic half smile, “You’ll see when we get there.”

How ominous. Dimitri’s stomach inkled with newfound excitement. The possibilities ran through his mind in a marathon, and the results were endless. Jeralt was strong, if he could teach Dimitri what he knew then he’d surely be strong too! And he could finally calm his raging heart and have a normal friendship with Byleth. 

Absolutely perfect. With a grin of excitement, hope, and vitality, he clenched his fists, “I’m ready for anything, Sir!”

With age, came competition. With competition, came dissatisfaction. With dissatisfaction, came an utter lack of sensibilities. Dimitri, aged eight and rather self centered at the time, had all of these traits. 

The lingering feeling of wanting to beat Byleth at everything humanly possible was odd, and new, and most possibly linked to something more subconscious. It was far too bad, then, that Dimitri knew _none_ of this. All he knew was frustration, one track minded-ness, and a stubborn streak that could irritate the most patient of saints. 

“Oh, look at that little bird holding that giant twig! How adorable! Oh, look at that little squirrel holding that giant tree! How-”

“I get it,” he groaned, throwing his head back to the sky and rolling his eyes, “you can stop now.”

“You’re just so adorable, Dima.”

“Shush.”

Dried leaves crunched underfoot. The forest was alive with the rush of autumn. The cold air alerted the wildlife to begin preparation, gathering their food for winter hibernation, while the trees were eager to drop their leaves and start anew. Autumn was the prettiest time of the year in the North. Dimitri loved watching the colors change from his window. 

Now, he was among the colors. Jeralt had led the children behind the castle and into the cliffside that Fhirdiad was built into so long ago. Mountain climbing and steep hikes were natural for those raised in Faerghus, which Dimitri was. He handled the steep hike and boulder hopping with ease, while Byleth was much more accustomed to forestry and flat plains. 

He hopped from one boulder to another. Byleth followed at a slower pace, with far more hesitant feet. He held out his hand for her while she pulled herself up and over the rocks. Gripping him tightly, she used his strength to finally join him at his side. “You have to dig your feet in,” he explained vividly, “like a mountain goat.” 

Her eyes lit with excitement. Jeralt was far ahead of them, but close enough to hear her voice through the trees, “If we see a mountain goat can we take it home and eat it?” 

He carried a jingling bag of armor on his back. Bright steel poked out from the top and hung out of the side, hinting at Dimitri’s fate for the evening. Glancing over his shoulder, he cast a skeptical look to his daughter, “Those monsters would sooner push you off the mountain than be killed by you.”

“Are you scared of goats?”

Dimitri stiffened. “I know I am.” A goat ate his sock once. 

With thoughts of cloven hoofed menaces haunting the group, they carried on through the trail. Lambert had given Jeralt permission prior to the expedition to do whatever he wished with his son. What he wished, apparently, required high elevations and unstable footing. He gave no explanation when questioned about his plans, and only informed the prince that this was a _very_ _important_ new training regime. They would be repeating it on a weekly basis.

Dimitri remained nervous. His legs ached, yet he pulled himself up with ease. The mountain trail wasn’t steep enough to require rope and harnessing as some others did - his father would climb the straight up and down rock walls that lay even farther North - but it proved steep enough to cause his muscles to scream in protest. Byleth followed at a slow pace while they followed Jeralt through the terrain. 

She exhaled in relief once he stopped in his tracks. Dimitri reached Jeralt before she did, and was catching his breath with his hands on his knees while she approached through the cedar trees. Jeralt waited for the children to calm their beating hearts until he plopped the clinking bag onto the ground. 

Dimitri eyed the steel armor curiously. Jeralt huffed in the way only a grumpy old man could, “Put it on, kid.”

He hesitated, “I, uh, I haven’t really worn heavy armor yet...”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.”

Byleth sat on a rock and watched as Dimitri pulled the chest piece from the bag. It was significantly cheaper than what an actual soldier would wear, but still quite heavy for the eight year old’s small stature. Clumsily, he wrapped the chest piece around himself and buckled the sides. 

Byleth watched until he was fully covered, “You look very shiny today, Mr. Blaiddyd.”

“Thanks,” he said, his mouth covered by the large neck piece, “it must be my new outfit.” 

Satisfied, Jeralt inspected the prince. His calculated eye raked down Dimitri’s heavily armored form. It was a silly sight, but looks didn’t matter when there was training to be done. 

“Okay,” he crossed his arms over his chest, “now I want you to do this entire hike. Wearing that.”

The prince’s eyes widened. The helmet slipped down over his hair, yet he quickly pushed it back up to properly question his sanity, “This is a five mile hike!”

With these mountains being right outside of Fhirdiad, they were walked and camped in on a regular basis. Very few trails were labeled, yet this particular one was the most popular for recreation and travel. A neat wooden sign beside the entrance properly informed it’s readers ‘5 miles’. It, actually, was six miles, but nobody cared enough to fix the sign. 

Jeralt had no interest in answering questions. He snapped his fingers impatiently, “Go! If you _can’t_ do this then you’re not fit to fight for Faerghus.”

His accusation emblazoned the spirits of the young prince. “Yes I am!” The argument was loud behind the wall of shined steel armor, “and if I’m not, then I _will_ be!”

He pointed a demanding finger past the sign, “Then get going! And if I say run, then you start running.”

Even in lighter clothes the hike was difficult. Running it was unimaginable. Trees roots grew up through the ground, littering the pathway alongside the buried stones and uneven incline. Despite the hopeless nature of such a task, Dimitri questioned no further. He turned on his heel to start down the weed littered path. 

The command to run came instantly. Jeralt only allowed exactly five seconds before he snapped his fingers once again, “Run.”

Dimitri ran. Jeralt and Byleth followed from a distance while he jogged over the rocks and roots. His armor clinked and clacked against itself. 

“Posture straight, kid,” Jeralt reminded, “shoulders back.”

Straightening his shoulders helped his breathing flow more easily, though his energy drained faster than ever. His ‘run’ turned more into a jog as his muscles began to complain. Frustration, resentment and exhaustion peaked up over the pain to remind him of his earlier grievances. 

With a ragged breath and beating heart in his ears, he asked, “Do you make Byleth train like this?”

A distance behind him, Jeralt snorted in answer, “Nope. She’s fine with her usual routine.”

Irritation seeped into his pain, heightening the absolutely tragic mood his heart had taken. Byleth’s ‘routine’ was a morning walk, training with Dimitri for an hour, then taking a nap. The most training she did was when she watched _Dimitri_ train. 

Yet, she still knocked him down. She was still better than him. And she never even worked for it.

Dimitri slowed. He rested his hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath. Father and daughter approached from behind casually. 

He sent them a tired glance through the helmet, “I think Byleth should train with me.”

Betrayal. Her mouth gaped. She reared back, hands to her chest, “What did I ever do to you?”

“Best friends suffer together,” he managed to huff despite his aching chest, “this is what you signed up.”

“I signed up for hanging out in your room and eating pastries,” she answered flatly, “not dying of exhaustion in the mountains.”

Her protests held no sway with the stern knight. Jeralt pursed his lips in thought. He glanced up at the bright sky, grey in it’s color and littered with heavy clouds. His eyes lingered for a moment as he mused over the proposition. “Perhaps… just this once. You can’t just shirk off your training when you feel like it, though,” he looked back at a hopeful Dimitri, “next time you’re doing it by yourself.”

It was good enough retribution for the young prince. He sighed with relief as Jeralt unbuckled the chest plate around his waist and transferred it to his daughter. “We should race.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Byleth retorted while Jeralt fit the helmet over her face, “do you _want_ me to vomit?”

“First to vomit loses.”

“...Fair enough.”

With that, the race began. From the perspective of an outsider, it didn’t _look_ much like a race. It resembled more of a shambling, slow jog down the rocky pathway. Jeralt watched with amusement as the children kept up with each other in the most sluggish of paces. Dimitri had the leg armor, making it more difficult for him to run, yet he was stronger and had more stamina than Byleth. She was weighed down by the chest piece, which was far too large for her small frame, and going much slower than she usually would. 

He observed them from a distance. “You know, you two would be better as a team. You always have been.”

Byleth huffed, breathless, “No teams in a race!”

Nonsense. “Dimitri’s got the strength, you’ve got the speed, By. Work together to get off the mountain, instead of fighting with each other.”

Fatherly wisdom was meant to embolden the confidence of it’s listeners, rather than increase their fury. Jeralt watched as both children huffed and puffed and increased in speed. The power of rivalry and competition pushed them further and further down the path, until they were far ahead of the knight. 

Byleth exhaled in short bouts of air. She never thought that she would be _hot_ on a Faerghus mountain in late autumn, yet she felt sweat sticking to her skin under her dress and on her arms. No matter how hard either of them pushed, they stayed in line with each other. 

“You’re just trying to make fun of me,” Dimitri gasped as he jogged, face straight ahead, “You’re always showing me up.”

This was news to her. She furrowed her brows, “I’m not trying to show you up!”

His breath came out in puffs of white air. His cheeks were pink with the exertion, but his eyes determined. “You never have to work for _anything_ , you’re good at everything you do and it’s not fair.”

“I can’t help that!” Byleth protested raggedly, “And you’re wrong anyway, I’m not good at _everything_ , Dima.” she stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath while he slowed down in front of her. They could only take a second’s break before Jeralt would round the corner and see them stopped, “There’re things you do that I could never even _dream_ of.”

His heart beat in his ears, and his teeth hurt. His side cramped, yet he ignored the pain as he stared at his friend through the slits in the helmet that covered her face. “Like what?”

Byleth could hear the frustration dripping from his tone. Her expression softened, “For starters, you get to influence an entire country. You can lift more than a grown man, you use a lance way better than I do, and… well, you’re Dimitri, that’s something nobody else in the world could ever be.”

Skeptical, he stared, “Being me isn’t that great.”

Byleth could name a million reasons why he was wrong. Her heart ached, whether it be from the exercise, or the argument. “I’ve never seen you so angry, Dima,” she stepped closer, her armor clinking against itself with every movement, “did I do something wrong? Just tell me so we can talk about it.”

He opened his mouth, and shut it like a trap. His brows furrowed, his chest heaved. His hairline was speckled with drops of sweat that stuck to his skin. Frustrated, he pushed his hair back and huffed another foggy cloud of air. “I don’t really want to, I’m sorry.”

Always polite, even when angry. He was so confusing. Before Byleth could retort with her myriad of protests, the sound of a blood curdling scream rolled down the mountain. It hit Byleth like a slap to the face, making her freeze and gasp as she looked towards the source of the noise. 

The forest was quiet. No birds sang, no crickets chirped. Silence fell like a heavy blanket, suffocating the children as they stood in place. The only comfort was Jeralt’s footsteps crunching the leaves as he jogged to their place. 

The knight’s languid manner had disappeared. His chest heaved as he stopped beside the children and gathered them together with a firm hand, “Mountain lion. Stay alert.”

The sound was chilling to the bone. Dimitri’s hairs stood on end, straight up and to attention. His senses were on high at the screech that echoed down the mountainside. “It sounded like a woman being murdered.” He whispered. It only felt right to lower one’s voice to a whisper when such a sound invaded every inch of the area. 

Jeralt shook his head. His hand rested on the handle of the lance strapped to his back. His shoulders were set back as he scanned the surrounding trees for the source, “It’s really not something I want to mess with right now.”

Byleth inched closer to Dimitri. She stood between him and her father, perfectly protected with them as her shield. Dimitri’s arm brushed against her as a reminder that he wasn’t alone. Yet, it wasn’t enough to keep his stomach from churning in sheer anxiety. 

“Stay here,” Jeralt stepped off the trail and into the overgrown weeds, “I’m gonna see how close it is.”

Byleth stiffened like a board. She watched her father’s retreating figure push through the trees, and pulled the helmet from her head. “This always happens in those scary books,” she whispered, “the parent leaves and then the kids get eaten!”  
  


Dimitri blinked, furrowing his brows in sudden jealousy, “Your dad lets you read scary books?”

Of course Jeralt did. Byleth could do anything she wished as long as it didn’t harm her. The realization was small, but a pin prick to Dimitri’s mood nonetheless. With his senses on edge and his heart skipping a beat, he plopped down onto a rock and sighed. 

Byleth followed suit. Their thighs touched, and arms brushed against each other as they waited for Jeralt to return. His footsteps were no longer audible through the wall of trees that littered the mountains. Byleth watched where he left with wide eyes, a rare show of fear from the usually carefree girl. 

Dimitri slouched. It was nice to slouch when there were no adults around to tell him not to. He would’ve enjoyed it more if his anxiety wasn’t running at full speed in his brain. 

It was not only the mountain lion’s screech that set his nerves on high, it was the awkward touch of Byleth next to him. His words replayed in his mind on loop, a constant reminder of his loose tongue.

He could’ve hit himself. They could be attacked by an oversized cat any minute then, and he would die angry at his best friend. It was a fate he couldn’t stand for. 

“I’m sorry,” he rubbed his arm awkwardly, staring at the ants crawling around his feet, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Byleth pressed her lips together, grimaced, then shook her head slowly, “I shouldn’t always be teasing you.”

She shouldn’t, but nobody was perfect. Perhaps Dimitri shouldn’t be so teasable. “I’ve been a jerk lately, haven’t I?”

“You couldn’t be a jerk if you tried,” she sent him a flat glance, “but you _have_ been making some pretty gross faces.”

“Gross faces?”

She crinkled her nose and shut her eyes, then opened her mouth like a panting dog. “Like this.”

Surely not. _Surely_ he didn’t look so constipated all the time. Nudging her with his elbow, he raised his protest, “You’re teasing me again.”

Her face relaxed, “Sorry, force of habit.”

It wasn’t the worst habit to have. Dimitri was merely happy to have her attention, whether it be teasing or not. Byleth knew to not take things too far, and that there were certain subjects she should avoid with him. While still young, she knew that much. 

Dimitri sighed and dug the heel of his steel boot into the ground. The armor was uncomfortable against his pants, and he wished he could finally take it off. Yet, it might save his life if the mountain lion was anywhere close. He would be happy to have the armor if attacked. 

Something needed to be said between them. Jeralt was still missing, and the evening was drawing to a close. If he was to die, he’d like to die with his friend, not an enemy. Lambert always taught him to not let the sun set on his anger, and the sun was certainly close to setting. 

“I’ve been having a hard time lately,” he started, trying to seem casual as he stared at the ground, “Father’s been gone a lot, and I’ve got a lot of work dumped on me.”

She looked at him inquisitively, “A lot of work?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “homework, not real work. But it’s just more complicated now, like it’s about politics and history and accounting. I _hate_ accounting.”

Byleth had never even looked at anything concerning accounting, yet she found herself agreeing with the sentiment. Dimitri continued as she listened, “A few years ago I was so excited to start doing this kind of stuff, but now that I’m actually doing it I’m just… bored.”

She could recall two years prior when they were six. Dimitri had gone on a tangent about the wonders of royalty and what lied in wait for him. His eyes sparkled when he spoke of diplomacy and his father’s job, something that he would take over one day. He seemed so excited at the time. 

Now, he was drained. It was a sad sort of rarity, to see a drained eight year old. Byleth nudged him with her arm, “Everybody cares for you, Dima, they just want to see you grow up good.”

“I know,” he relinquished with a sigh, “it’s just not what I imagined. Even weapons training isn’t very fun anymore.”

“Is training and homework ever actually supposed to be fun?”

“I guess not.”

It seemed like it used to be. When Dimitri had first figured out his affinity for lances, he adored training. Yet, then again, Lambert used to watch him more often then. 

Even Byleth felt as if she hadn’t seen the King as of late. She could only imagine herself in Dimitri’s shoes. If Jeralt suddenly disappeared, only reappearing for a day and a quick hello, she’d be sad as well. Dimitri couldn’t help it, the circumstances surrounding him were entirely too unfair. 

And her teasing, she realized, made it all the worse. 

“Where’s your father?” She asked, leaning in to catch a glimpse of his face through his long hair, “he’s been gone lately.”

Dimitri couldn’t help but be an open book. He couldn’t play poker if his life depended on it. He was simply too sincere to hide such things, especially from Byleth. His eyes widened, and he bit his lip in thought. She narrowed her eyes as she watched the trail of emotions flicker across his face. 

He was silent. He rested his chin in his hand and continued watching the ants. Byleth watched only him. 

It would be another short pause before he could finally open his mouth and answer. The mental hoops he jumped through to be able to answer her had been defeated, and he knew that she would tell nobody. Byleth was trustworthy, and kept secrets when asked. 

“He’s got a girlfriend,” Dimitri straightened his shoulders and scowled, “from Adrestia. I-I guess I shouldn’t say girlfriend, she’s more like a… I don’t know.”

“Fiance?”

“Not quite,” he tilted his head in thought, “but it’s getting there, I think. Father’s been so focused on her lately.”

Byleth wouldn’t know what to do if Jeralt ever started courting a woman. She quite enjoyed being the only lady in his life, and there was a beautiful sort of comfort in knowing that her mother was so dearly loved. Jeralt cared very little for courting anyway, and she didn’t have to worry about such things. 

Yet, to see her friend so caught up over this, Byleth couldn’t imagine the pain. While Dimitri didn’t know his mother, to see the position filled would be a scary thought. Racking her brain, she tried to come up with an answer that would please her dear friend, “Maybe… he’s just taking his time to make sure that she’d be a good mom for you?”

His eyes were sad and flat. He refused to look at her, “I’m meeting her next week.”

“You should tell your father your honest opinion,” Byleth laid her hand on his, “I’m sure he’d want to hear it.”

He would. Dimitri knew that much, as honesty was prized between the two of them. It was far different from Byleth and Jeralt’s relationship, which was built on a precarious tower of half truths and hidden secrets. It worked for them, as the foundation of honesty worked for the Blaiddyds. 

He sent a glance to Byleth. She looked at him with such sincerity in her eyes, a rare expression for the usually impassive girl. Dimitri returned the look, “I’ve been so mean to you lately.”

“You’ve just made a few weird faces is all.” And a few irritable mutters under his breath that she pointedly ignored.

“No, I’ve been mean,” he squeezed her hand, “to be honest, I’m jealous of you, By. You don’t have to worry about Sir Jeralt ever remarrying,” at least for the foreseeable future, “and you don’t have to worry about ruling a country one day. You can just be… you.”

As sweet as he was, Byleth could take none of it to heart. Her smile faded into insincerity as she returned his gaze, now shaking her head, “I sleep in a hammock in a kitchen, and I’m treated like trash by the servants.”

This was news to him. He knew of the hammock, though he’d never seen it, but he knew _nothing_ of her treatment. Now, she had his full attention, “The servants treat you how?”

Her shoulders heaved with frustration. It was a tangent she never had the opportunity to go on, it simmered inside of her like a boiling pool until it finally spilled over. With the mountain lion forgotten, Byleth raised her voice in frustration, “Like trash! They push me out of the way, they spread rumors about me, they refuse to do their jobs if it’s just me around. I don’t know what I did, but apparently something.”

Dimitri watched her cross her arms over her chest and glare at the trees. Growing up being served by the same people, he had never noticed a difference in their actions with Byleth. They were the same as always, as far as he had noticed, and he knew of no such rumors. Confused, he reached further for an explanation, “But you’re a knight’s daughter, you’re not just a commoner.”

“My father only became a knight because your father’s protecting him,” she explained, “I’m fully aware of how unfair it is to those who actually worked for knighthood,” Glenn was in the process even then, despite his young age, “and to the public eye we’re just manipulating the generosity of your family.”

Perhaps they were, in some non-malicious sort of way. While Byleth, nor Dimitri, understood the details of what Jeralt was hiding from, it could be worse. Adults were odd in their interactions with others, their jealousy and their entitlement. Dimitri felt that he had been acting the exact same when it came to Byleth. 

Byleth, always, was just happy for his happiness. Lambert always strived to support his loved one’s and country. He pressed his lips together and stared at the ground, meditating and musing while he thought of his own actions in the past week. 

“I’m sorry,” finally, he could offer her, “they may think that, but I know you for _you_.”

Byleth for herself. Byleth, who had her own set of problems. Byleth, who cared for her friends and family more than anything. She stared straight ahead at the trees before answering, “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time right now. I’ll always be here to help you, though, no matter how hard it gets.”

No matter how hard it got. He hoped that it never got harder than it was then, he was far too young to be stressed out. 

Before Dimitri could even think to reply, another scream echoed down the mountain. It ripped through the trees and washed over the children in it’s chilling horror. Byleth froze, while Dimitri jumped. It was the same sound they had heard earlier, almost like a woman being attacked, but less human and more animalistic. Dimitri had always heard mountain lions roaring in the distance from his room in the castle, yet to be so close was a different kind of terror. It sounded further away now, higher up on the mountain and thankfully, further away from them. 

Byleth gripped his hand as tightly as she could. Her chest heaved with fear, though she tried desperately to keep her expression under control. Exhaling deeply, she murmured, “I hope father’s okay.”

“He is,” Dimitri nudged his arm against hers, “nothing can beat the blade breaker.”

She offered the tiniest, most polite of smiles, “True… except maybe a mountain lion.” Her anxiety reared itself once more. It showed in her eyes, barely there, but shining through the dark irises nonetheless. Dimitri watched her closely. 

“Maybe we should go find him.”

Byleth shook her head, “No, no. He told us to stay here!”

He raised a questioning brow, “Now you care about being obedient? Where’s the girl that sneaks out at night to go buy sweets?”

That girl was _comfortable_ in town. That girl didn’t expect a mountain lion to meet her on a Fhirdiad street at night. It wasn’t safe then either, but then again, humans didn’t have claws and fangs. 

Byleth tapped the helmet anxiously, “This is different.”

“We’ll be okay,” he assured, “and Jeralt will be okay too.”

Would he? Dimitri couldn’t tell the future, and Jeralt had been gone for what felt like forever. While only several minutes had passed, Byleth’s heart ached as if it had been hours. 

The heart ache only increased as yet another ominous sound caught her attention. In front of the children, the leaves and bushes began to rustle and move with an unseen force. The trees of Faerghus were sharp and sticky, not just anything could survive in it’s forest. Rabbits tended to avoid the often walked path, while deer preferred the Southern part of the country. 

It _had_ to be a mountain lion. In Byleth’s mind, there was no other option. She was about to die, and it would be by tooth and claw. She readied her dagger, while Dimitri followed suit with his own. 

“Just imagine,” she whispered as the branches and leaves ached with movement, “if we manage to kill it, you’d get an awesome pelt.”

He couldn't help but crack a smile, “I could wear it on my head and shoulders like some barbarian king.”

“That’d be badass.”

“Let’s kill it, then,” he held his dagger up, “don’t be afraid, they can _smell_ fear.”

Byleth could play the part, at least. She hoped that overgrown housecats couldn’t see through her poker face, at least. The bushes rustled again, with the sound of something hard and sharp scraping against the bark of a cedar tree. 

Finally, the lion emerged. 

And jumped down the hill, between the children, and out of sight behind them. 

Byleth and Dimitri both lunged backwards to allow the animal it’s path through. She landed on her bottom on the harsh ground, dagger in hand and heart racing in her ears. Across from her Dimitri was heaving with panic while staring wide eyed where the animal had disappeared. The trees and bushes were disturbed by the movement of it’s high leap, branches broken and grass crushed. 

Byleth gaped, “That was a weird looking lion!”  
  


“I think… uh,” he exhaled and squinted, “I think that was a goat.”

“...Oh.” 

Byleth felt dumb. _Of_ _course_ it was a goat. It leapt like a goat, it bleated like a goat, it had hooves like a goat. 

It was a goat. Byleth had felt true terror for no reason. 

She was frustrated, to say the least. 

Little did she know, more frustration and terror would come. It would come hard, and loud, and entirely too heart wrenching. It would come in the form of her father stumbling down the mountains, through the trees and bushes, following the goat’s path as he screamed and waved his arms. 

The very sight nearly froze the children. Jeralt screamed, “Mountain lion! Run! Run!”

There was no time for questions, no thoughts and no problem solving. Run they did, scrambling up as quickly as their small limbs would allow. And they ran. Dimitri stumbled, while Byleth grabbed his arm and pulled him along. When she tripped over a rock, he helped her up and pulled her just as harshly as she did him. Supporting each other, hand in hand, they lept and ran and slid and stumbled over the rocky pathway.

Down the mountain they went, hand in hand. Dimitri pulled himself up over the rocks with ease, turning around to pull Byleth up when she had trouble. The lights of Fhirdiad glowed between the tree branches. They began to move closer and closer with each step and huff and scream. Byleth pushed a limb aside, jumped over a thorn bush, and ignored her heart in her ears. 

Her blood was cold. Her father was out of sight behind her, yet she dared to not look back. Jeralt had always prepared her for a moment like this, when she would have to run and not look back. She had to trust him to stay alive, she had to have faith in his lance and power. She needed to run. 

Dimitri fell once again. Byleth halted in her tracks and pulled him up by the arm. He stumbled and tripped, yet was on his feet once again. He held her hand as they yanked and jerked their way through the forest, over rocks and through the trees. 

Finally, the walls of Fhirdiad were clear. The trees parted and thinned, and the walls beckoned to the children with it’s sweet arms of comfort. The gates were open, as if expecting them. 

With a scream - Byleth couldn’t tell if it was hers, or Dimitri - they ran through the gates like chickens with their heads cut off. Guards gasped in fear and held their weapons while the children moved their legs as quickly as they could. 

To the castle, they went. Through the palace gates and through the courtyard, until finally, Dimitri collapsed upon the wide steps. 

He rolled over onto his back. He stared at the sky and breathed heavily. His stomach hurt, he felt like vomiting, and his legs ached worse than ever. Byleth dropped to her knees beside him and buried her face into her hands. 

“W-We left him,” she gasped, “he’s p-probably being mauled right now!” 

Dimitri rolled his head to look at her. She wasn’t crying, yet her shoulders shook with emotion. Guards and servants poured out from the front doors of the castle and knelt beside the children on the ground. Byleth ignored them all. 

One servant helped Dimitri sit up. His chest hurt with the exertion, but he was alive. He was alive, Byleth was alive, and nobody had been mauled - as far as they knew. Their frantic escape left no room for looking behind. 

He took another deep breath. And another. And another. Until finally, his face fell, and he simply stared. 

Jeralt stood at the castle gates with a wolf grin. 

The color left Dimitri’s face. He narrowed his eyes to get a better look, and confirmed that it was, indeed, Jeralt. Jeralt Eisner, leaning against the gate and sipping from a wooden flask. Jeralt Eisner, who Byleth mourned. Jeralt Eisner, who was untouched by the claws of a dangerous beast. 

Byleth remained with her head in her hands. Dimitri shook her arm, “Look. Look, By, look up.”

She jerked her body away, “What? Dima, Goddess, can’t I jus- Oh.”

The children stared at Jeralt with colorless faces and open mouths. 

He took yet another swig from the flask. Ever so casually, he twisted the cap back on and placed it back into his jacket. Then, he clapped. Slowly, and menacingly. He clapped, and smiled. A genuine smile, a proud smile. 

“Good job! Who won the race?”

****

* * *

Byleth’s anger was much like a coal at the bottom of a fire. It could look entirely harmless, entirely cooled off and safe, but if you touched it, your finger would burn and blister and ache for days. 

So, she spent the night at the castle to spare her father from her murdering him while he slept. Dimitri was just grateful for a sleepover after the long night. 

“He said that his father would do the same kind of stuff,” she huffed and pushed the pillow down further, as if taking her anger out on it, “that doesn’t mean he can do it to me!”

“I kinda had fun,” Dimitri shrugged as he laid across from her, “I mean it _was_ scary, but now that it’s over I sort of just want to laugh about it.”

Byleth glared. He flinched. The fireplace behind her cast shadows over her face, making her look older and scarier than she truly was. Dimitri put up a defensive hand and waved it, “I-I mean we _did_ get down the mountain in our armor. I didn’t think I could do it before!”  
  


“Well, I’m glad _your_ confidence was boosted,” her voice was laced with sarcasm as she laid down beside him, “and nobody even won the race. We ran beside each other the whole time.”

Feeling very wise, Dimitri closed his eyes and nodded solemnly, “It isn’t about winning, it’s about the journey.”

“The journey where we thought we were going to die?”

Yes. That journey. That absolutely terrible journey. Ever the optimist, he offered a shrug, “We got down the mountain. That’s all Jeralt wanted.”

"Was there even a lion in the first place?"

He snorted, "Jeralt told me that it was just a weird bird."

The children lay in their makeshift bed on the ground, in front of the fire. It was warmer in that particular spot, and the bearskin carpet was always comfortable to sleep on. Byleth preferred spending the night in the reading room, where books lined the walls and shadows danced against the windows. It was her favorite place in the castle. 

She laid on her back and stared at the ceiling, sighing, “I’m glad we got to talk, at least.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered with ease, “I’ve been a jerk.”

“I’m sorry _I’ve_ been a jerk.” She tilted her head to look at him, “Let’s promise to never be mean to each other again.”

A nod, an outstretched hand. A secret smile shared between the two children. Byleth wrapped her finger around his and they pinky swore on it. 

“Best friends?”

“Best friends.”


End file.
